Alone
by Littleforest
Summary: Stranded on desolate planet, broken and betrayed by those closest to him, John Sheppard struggles to survive. With their memories affected, his team try to remember what happened to him. Alone and hurt, John does everything he can to try and forget.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N -** Hello, and welcome to my second Stargate Atlantis story! Before you start reading, I just want to warn you that, like most of my stories, this one is going to be extremely angsty, with plenty of John Sheppard whump added in for good measure. I won't say much more now, but you'll definitely see what I mean by the end of this chapter. Other than that, all I'll say is that this is set post-season five, and that there are potential spoilers for anything. Oh, and I really hope you like it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part One**

* * *

With heavy wind and rain swirling around him, John jerked his body from side to side and struggled like his life depended on it, but no matter what he did - no matter how _damn hard_ he fought - he just couldn't get free.

But had to keep trying, he told himself forcefully. It couldn't end like this…

"Dammit, Rodney, let me go!" John shouted in utter frustration as he writhed against his binds, his voice hoarse with desperation. The strong winds buffeted in his ears and splattered heavy rain into his face, but John barely noticed the terrible weather that was beating down on his already battered body.

Instead his focus was on his team - on what they were doing to him…

"Teyla…" John tried, his breathing laboured, but the Athosian was unmoving. He turned his head towards Ronon instead, but found pretty much the same expression on his other friend's face as well. Still, he had to try. "Ronon, come on buddy, you've got to let me go…"

"Shut up, Sheppard," Ronon growled. John could feel his hope slipping away, but he didn't give up.

Half-sitting half-lying down on the wet, muddy grass, with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against a large, thick tree, John continued to struggle with all the strength he had left in his aching body. It was futile though; the binds around his wrists – as well as the strong rope that Ronon had used to secure his chest against the large tree at his back - were too tightly knotted. He hated to admit it, even if just to himself, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get free.

And he was trying really damn hard…

John growled in frustration and anger at his own helplessness. It was hopeless. Even if by some miracle he did manage to pull himself free – something that was looking more and more unlikely by the second - the woods that surrounded the gate and DHD didn't offer him much of an escape; at least not with his team standing right there.

He supposed if he did manage to get free of the rope, he could've tried to escape into the forest, but he knew that Teyla and Ronon wouldn't have had to put in too much effort to track him down. Hell, he probably wouldn't even get that far. The way things were going, he wouldn't have put it past Ronon to shoot him as soon as he tried to take one step away from the lone tree that his friends had tied him to.

Still, John struggled like his life depended on it. It was in his nature to fight to the end. He had to…

"Dammit, let me go!" John continued as he blinked rainwater out of his eyes, straining against the binds as he tried to get through to his friends. "Don't do this!"

 _Please don't do this…_

Rodney ignored him completely, his concentration fixed on the DHD. From what little John could see, he'd almost finished working on it.

All John knew about their situation – apart from the fact that he was in a hell of a lot of trouble of course – was that something was wrong with the DHD. He could see that Rodney was currently trying to get it back up and running - but John hadn't actually been able to take a closer look himself so he had no idea what was actually wrong with it…or how long it would take Rodney to fix.

Their jumper had crashed into the small clearing around the gate the second they'd gated through to this desolate, rain-soaked, godforsaken planet, and as soon as they'd crawled out of the dead wreckage of a jumper, Ronon had held him down and Teyla had hit him in the gut, knocking the wind out of his lungs and taking his fight away – at least momentarily. Then, before he could recover, they'd dragged him out towards the tree line and tied him to the nearest one…

 _Dammit, why the hell were they doing this…?_

John shook his head, half-hoping he could shake the hurt right out of his mind. As the rain battered his aching body, John continued to struggle with everything he had left, but it was becoming harder and harder to find the will to keep going.

 _Please don't do this…_

After a few minutes, when Rodney finally stopped whatever he was doing and nodded towards Ronon and Teyla, John increased his efforts, but deep down he knew it was all futile.

"Rodney, please…" John swallowed hard, shooting a pleading look towards his friend.

Without once glancing at John, and pausing only to wipe the rain from his eyes, Rodney immediately began to dial what John assumed was Atlantis' address. He squinted through the rain; it was taking Rodney longer to dial than normal – probably something to do with the glitchy DHD – but the first couple of symbols looked right…

John still felt a slight flare of hope that they wouldn't do this - that they wouldn't leave him here, alone - but that hope was diminishing almost as quickly as a flame would diminish in the damn rain.

But, John told himself, so long as his team made it back to Atlantis, _someone_ would realise something was wrong with his team and fix it.

And then they'd come back for him…

John glanced at Ronon to his right, but the Satedan kept his own eyes fixed on the gate, watching as each symbol lit up. Teyla was almost smiling as she looked towards Rodney, but even that looked…wrong. It seemed almost manic, so out-of-character that John's concern for himself was briefly overtaken by his concern for her. She wasn't herself. None of them were.

John shook his head, trying desperately to ignore the dizzying panic that was rising up in his chest. No matter what the circumstances, no matter what the hell was affecting his team – and there was no doubt in John's mind that they were under the influence of _something,_ even if he didn't know exactly what - Ronon, Rodney and Teyla were his friends – his _family._ They wouldn't leave him trapped here alone. They would fight it. They wouldn't leave him…

 _Please don't do this…_

He turned to Ronon and Teyla and made a concerted effort to keep the panic from his voice. "Guys, come on. This isn't you. Something's affecting you. Something that damn priest gave you is making you do this. Please, don't do this. Trust me. I'm your teammate. Your friend. You know me."

With frustration and just a little bit more fear rushing through his body, John wished with what little strength he had left that he'd never even heard of PX6-662. As soon as they'd stepped foot on that damn planet – at the time, expecting nothing more than a simple trade meeting with a fairly advanced yet apparently devoutly religious society – he'd had a bad feeling about it. John had done his best to squash it and keep an open mind, but that bad feeling had only increased as the day had gone on, particularly when it had become clear that their religion was more like a cult than anything else.

John shook his head bitterly as the rain soaked him to the skin – no matter how creepy it had seemed at the time, even in his most pessimistic moods he would never have expected the visit to turn out this badly…

"Let me go, dammit!" John yelled, his panic increasing each time a new symbol lit up. Rodney was moving slowly, almost robotically, but it wouldn't be long now…

John struggled again, ignoring the growing, sharp pain of the rope biting into his wrists. He was tied up, in pain, wet, and about to be trapped – by his own team, no less - on a completely different and unknown planet to the one they'd originally visited; a planet that they'd gated to without Atlantis' knowledge.

All of which meant that he was in deep trouble, and that no help was coming any time soon. John wasn't sure it could get any worse…

"I told you to shut up, Sheppard," Ronon growled, giving John a kick. "You've done enough. You've upset the Goddess, and now you must serve your punishment."

"The Goddess?" John muttered, anger bubbling in his stomach. "Damn cult…"

Ronon kicked out again, and John bit back a cry of pain. Well, he'd been wrong; it was getting worse by the second. John groaned, but tried to push through it. He couldn't give up.

"But…dammit, I haven't done anything!" John argued desperately, his hope vanishing by the second. He wasn't lying; he really hadn't done anything to deserve being tied to a tree and left for dead. Whatever was affecting his team, it had come on quickly. All he could hope was that Keller or Beckett could reverse it, or that Atlantis would send help back to him anyway.

Woolsey wouldn't fall the act, surely? Lorne definitely wouldn't, John thought with an internal nod. His second-in-command would know something was wrong the moment his team returned without him.

Feeling slightly more reassured by that simple yet undeniable fact, John turned his attention back to Rodney. The scientist seemed to have finished dialling, a fact that was confirmed a second later when the wormhole opened with a familiar whoosh.

John heard him briefly announce to Atlantis that they were coming through, then Rodney stopped for a moment and turned to face Teyla and Ronon. Even though Rodney's gaze was fixed in his general direction however, John knew his friend wasn't even seeing him. It was like he wasn't even there.

Like he'd already been forgotten.

John opened his mouth, intent of saying…something, _anything_ to make his friends see sense, but no words came to mind. The truth was, he knew there was nothing he could say that would change what was happening. Whatever was controlling them, it was strong. Too strong for even the strongest people he knew to overcome it.

John had never felt so helpless.

Then Rodney turned and walked straight through the wormhole.

John swallowed back his hurt, but still felt it deeply. Rodney hadn't even turned back.

Ronon did, although only briefly. "See you in hell, Sheppard."

Before John could even think about responding, the big man strode up to the wormhole and stepped right through without a trace of hesitation, following Rodney back to Atlantis. John was finding it harder and harder to keep it together…

"Teyla," John began, struggling against his binds once again. His throat felt tight, painful. "Please…"

"You deserve this, John," she told him, his face a mixture of anger and sadness. It was an expression that seemed alien on her face. "You have disrespected the Goddess, and must be punished in accordance with her teachings. You will not be missed."

"Teyla…"

But before he could even get the words out, she was gone too.

He stared at the giant ring, watching with a dead weight in his chest right up until the moment the wormhole finally collapsed.

Then the gate went silent. John could hear the wind in his ears, feel the rain hitting his face, but none of it mattered. His team had beaten him up, tied him to a tree, and left him for dead. He hung his head in defeat.

He was alone.

* * *

 **A/N -** So, is anyone interested in reading more? It's been a while since I've posted anything, and I could really use all the encouragement I can get, so please let me know if you want me to continue. I'm not going to say much more about the plot now - since I definitely don't want to ruin it - but I will say that there is plenty more angst and whump to come. Poor John - I do so like to make him suffer...

Anyway, I hope you like what I've written so far, and that you want to read more. For now though, and until next time, thanks for reading!


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! First of all, I just want to thank you all for all the wonderful reviews I received for the first chapter - the response was so overwhelming and unexpected! You were all so lovely, and it really inspired me to keep going, so here I am with a brand new instalment for you all. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I really hope you like it too! So, without further ado…enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Two**

* * *

The storm raged on, battering the alien land indiscriminately with gale-force winds that ripped through the air and ice-cold rain that drenched the land and everything on it. It was furious, unending and unforgiving, and had John been in a better frame of mind, he might have been more than a little worried by it.

But he wasn't. In fact, with his mind all over the place, he barely even noticed the deluge that was soaking him to the skin and freezing him to his very core. His thoughts were elsewhere, and he couldn't seem to pull himself back. He was frozen; stuck in another time and place.

A place where his friends hadn't left him. A time when they hadn't betrayed him.

 _Please don't do this. Please don't leave me here alone…_

John shook his head, but couldn't dislodge the doubt that had taken up residence there. He knew it was unfair. His friends had been with him from day one, and he trusted them more than he trusted himself. Deep down he knew that they would never have left him here voluntarily, but the longer he sat on the cold, wet ground, unable to move because of the ropes holding him down, the harder it was to remember that.

He could feel the tingling of anger rising up in his chest, and it was getting harder and harder to hold it back. It was irrational, but the truth was, with his thoughts a raging mess and his heart aching with the fresh stings of betrayal, he wasn't feeling in a particularly rational mood.

He was on a desolate planet, light-years from home, trapped, scared and - worst of all - completely alone. He was no longer on PX6-662 – the original planet they'd gated to - but he had no idea where his team had brought him. All he knew about his new – and hopefully temporary – home was that there didn't appear to be any sign of life other than him.

He was alone, with only the wind, rain, and trees for company, and no one but his drugged up team knew where he was.

 _Please, come back for me..._

John could feel his anger grow, and he did nothing to stop it. His friends, the people who he trusted with his life, had dumped him on some godforsaken planet at the other end of the freaking galaxy without so much as a goodbye. He had a right to be pissed.

Although pissed didn't really cover it. He was furious now. And it felt good to let the anger swirl around his head. It helped take his mind of the desperation of his situation, so he clung to it with everything he had. He knew he would need a miracle to survive this situation, and the anger – as exhausting as it was – was helping him get a grip on the dark thoughts that were swirling around in his mind.

John wasn't sure if he was really angry at his team – or whether it was just his own pathetic efforts that he was pissed at - but he was definitely angry at that priest from PX6-662. That bastard had drugged his team and ordered them to exile him on this wet, uninhabited planet.

John knew – even with the anger temporarily ruling his mind – that there was no other explanation. His team wouldn't have done this, not on their own. They…cared about him.

Didn't they?

John hated that doubt that had taken root at the back of his mind, and it only made his anger grow. Damn that priest for doing this. He'd make him pay. As soon as Atlantis came back for him – and they would, dammit - he would go back to PX6-662 and he would make the entire damn cult pay for making him doubt his team.

 _Please don't leave me…_

 _Please come back…_

John shook his head forcefully, jolting himself away from the dark thoughts that were creeping on his psyche. He had to think rationally. John knew that he couldn't afford to panic. Once he pulled himself free of these ropes – and he knew he would, given enough time - and made it to the DHD, maybe then he'd be able to get off this damn planet himself. He didn't have his IDC - Ronan had made sure of that - but he could still dial the Alpha site. He'd made it back home somehow…

And even if he couldn't manage it by himself, John knew that help would soon be on its way. He just had to wait for them. As irrationally angry as he still was with his team, he just had to trust them.

They didn't leave their people behind.

 _Please don't leave me behind..._

Almost as if the mere thought had jinxed it, John heard a sudden and very loud beeping noise begin to emanate from the DHD. He squinted through the rain, but could only make out a faint, small flashing light from where he was sitting. It didn't look part of the usual DHD design. It almost seemed like an alarm. A warning...

Then realisation hit…

No…

John felt sick with fear. Surely Rodney wouldn't have…

BOOM!

The explosion was huge, rocking John to his core. Almost as if happening in slow motion, John saw the DHD scatter into a million different pieces before being swallowed up by fire and light.

Then a flying piece of the DHD caught him right on the temple, and he saw nothing but black.

* * *

Woolsey was worried.

Absently he straightened some papers on his desk as he tried _not_ to worry, but it was easier said than done of course…

Sheppard and his team were overdue. Actually they were _well_ overdue. Which, Woosley considered, wasn't all that unusual when one took into account their combined history, although it certainly wasn't reassuring. The premier team on Atlantis seemed to find trouble as easily as most people fell asleep. It came with almost always being the first team through the gate, Woolsey knew, but still Sheppard's team seem to have a special knack for it. Even the simplest missions seemed to go belly-up when they were involved.

He sighed and rubbed at his temple, glancing around his office as if the walls held the answer. He could feel a headache coming on, and he had a feeling that it wouldn't be going away any time soon. Honestly, he couldn't understand how Elizabeth had managed with the stress for as long as she had.

" _Sir,"_ came Chuck's voice in his ear.

"Go ahead," Woolsey replied, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.

" _Someone's dialling the gate."_

"Keep the shield up," Woolsey replied. "I'm on my way."

Woolsey was quick, and made it to the control platform just in time to see the final symbol lock. Thankfully the shield had long been in place, although Woolsey hadn't doubted it for a second. Even the most inexperienced of gate technicians had been doing this job longer than he had. For a brief second, Woolsey felt a rush of inadequacy, although he quickly pushed it away. He didn't have the luxury for such self-indulgence. Inadequate or not, Woolsey was in charge. Atlantis needed him to act like it.

"Any indication of who it might be?" Woolsey asked Chuck, who was looking at the gate with no small amount of apprehension. They had three teams off-world at the moment, and none of them were scheduled to return now. Of course, only one of those teams was _overdue…_

"No –wait," Chuck typed rapidly as he quickly studied the incoming data. "It's Dr McKay's IDC, Sir."

"Open the shield," Woolsey ordered, rather redundantly he thought, since Chuck had already started to type the commands into the computer. Then he had a thought. "Wait, try to get McKay on the radio first -"

No sooner had he said the words that the man himself started speaking through the speaker on the desktop.

" _Atlantis, this is McKay,"_ Rodney said. The line was crackly, and Woolsey got the impression that the weather was bad where they were. Not a good sign when one considered that the planet they had originally gated to had been said to have a mild climate at worst, and had been experiencing one of the hottest summers on their records when Sheppard's team had first gated through. Woolsey's instincts were screaming at him; something was very wrong…

"Good to hear your voice, McKay," Woolsey replied, trying to hide his growing tension. "Is everything okay? You missed your scheduled check-in."

" _We've accomplished our mission,"_ Rodney replied. _"We're coming through."_

Mission? Woolsey frowned. That was an odd way to describe trade talks…

Woolsey shared a worried look with Chuck. "Everything okay, Doctor?"

" _Explain later,"_ McKay replied sharply. _"Can we come through?"_

Woolsey hesitated, for reasons even he didn't fully understand. "Yes, we're lowering the shield now. Give us a couple of minutes and you're free to come through."

Woolsey nodded at Chuck, and the gate tech immediately began to put the commands in to lower the shield.

" _Good,"_ replied McKay. Then he signed off without so much as a goodbye.

McKay was always short and to the point, but that was a little too short, even for him. He also hadn't questioned why it would take a couple of minutes to lower the shield, when ordinarily it would only take a few seconds. Something definitely seemed off…

"Major Lorne," Woolsey said, tapping his radio. It took only a moment for the man in question to respond.

" _Yes, Sir?"_

"Meet me in the gate room, and bring some of your men," Woolsey replied before he could change his mind. If there was one thing he'd learned on Atlantis, it was better to be safe than sorry.

" _Now, Sir?"_

"As soon as you can," Woolsey replied. Then he paused, thinking for a moment. "And grab Dr Beckett on your way. I have a feeling we're going to need his expertise."

" _Yes, Sir."_

Woolsey nodded, even though the Major couldn't see him. Then he gestured towards the soldiers on duty, and ordered them to be ready for hostiles. They followed his orders without question, guns raised, waiting at they watched the rippling wormhole with eagle eyes.

 _Just in case…_

Then he took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the return of Sheppard's team, all while wondering what the hell they had got themselves into this time…

* * *

 _Please don't do this…_

 _He twisted and turned, but the ropes were too strong. They were suffocating him, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He could feel the pressure on his chest, gripping his arms, pulling around his neck, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't get free._

 _Let me go, let me go, please just let me go…_

 _He tried to scream, to beg for help, but even though his team were standing right there next to him, they made no move to help. Instead they just stood by and watched, arms folded and looking for all the world like they were quite happy to stand there and watch him die…_

 _John jerked and struggled, desperately trying to get free, but the ropes just pulled more tightly against his already battered and bruised chest. Then the ropes moved on to his neck again, almost like a boa constrictor would to its prey, and pulled tight. They were choking him, cutting off his air. He couldn't breathe..._

 _He was dying…_

John woke with a sudden gasp, bile rising quickly the back of his throat as the pain in his head spiked to a sickening level. He swallowed it back with a force that sapped most of his energy, but it didn't make him feel much better.

Dammit…

With his mind still a little fuzzy on what had actually happened to him, John pulled his eyes open, but he groaned as light burned his retinas and the pain in his head spiked again. He kept his eyes open through force of will alone, but it took a couple of seconds for his dizzy vision to adjust to the bright sunlight.

When it did, what he saw didn't bring much comfort.

Alone. John swallowed hard as the memories came flooding back. He was alone.

 _Please don't do this…_

As he glanced around the empty clearing, John tried to calm his battered and faintly shaking body. It was difficult though, mainly because even though the rain had stopped, John was still soaking wet from the earlier deluge. Cold was seeping into his bones, and it was numbing his limbs. After a few seconds, John decided that the numbness was good. Numb meant no pain. Numb was _good._

Except it wasn't, not really. What he needed to do was...something. Anything.

John jerked his body reflexively, and made a decision. He had to get himself free from these damn ropes. _Yeah,_ John thought, trying to ignore the growing tightness in his chest. That's what he had to do. Except, he thought tiredly, that was easier said that done...

John shook his head and tried to concentrate. It felt as if his mind was covered in a thick blanket of fog, but he did his best to push through it. Using every ounce of experience and training he had, John forced himself to assess his situation, even though all he really wanted was to fall asleep and wait to be rescued.

Except a rescue might take a while now, John realised with a heavy heart. He'd been banking on the idea that Lorne would realise that something was wrong and come and get him, but now, even if Lorne did work out that his team had left him behind, a rescue would be no easy feat.

John squinted. The Stargate definitely didn't look in working condition, and with hindsight - and the scattered DHD fresh on his mind - John realised that he'd been optimistic at best - and stupid at worst - to expect a quick rescue.

The gate looked damaged and the DHD was decimated. John knew he wouldn't be able to gate off world himself, especially since their jumper was dead, but he also had a feeling that the damage to the gate was too great for anyone to gate in either.

And that didn't even come close to the biggest obstacle his rescuers faced.

His team had originally gated to PX6-662, but they certainly hadn't stayed there. _He_ didn't even know which planet he had been dragged to by his drugged up team members; how was Lorne supposed to work it out? His team probably wouldn't be much help either; even if Beckett or Jennifer could fix whatever was causing them to act so out of character, there was no guarantee that they would even be able to remember where they'd left him to die.

Would they even remember they'd left him at all?

No - surely, no matter what was influencing them, they wouldn't forget him. They'd come back. He just had to survive long enough for them to come the long way round, that's all.

 _Please don't leave me here…_

John shook his head, trying once again to shake the latent fogginess from his mind, focusing all his remaining energy on his own survival.

First things first, he definitely needed to get free from his binds, which, he realised, at least felt a _little_ looser after the havoc of the DHD explosion.

With that in mind, and with no time like the present, John immediately began to wriggle his aching body, twisting and turning until he felt the strong ropes give a little more. He pushed his chest in and out with all the strength he had left, pulling on every muscle he had to help him break free; he didn't expect the ropes to snap since he wasn't exactly the Hulk, but he did think that he could at least loosen the knot enough to allow him to pull himself up and climb out.

He would do it, he told himself firmly, leaving no room for doubt. He had to. And then once he had, he would assess his situation properly.

Then he would worry about first aid and shelter and getting home.

Then he would worry about everything else…

* * *

 **A/N –** So, what did you think? I realise that this is another relatively short chapter, but these first two chapters are really just setting the scene for the main part of the story, which will mainly focus on John reaction to being left alone (and the challenges he faces on the unknown planet), and also his team's efforts to find him again. Hopefully you're still interested, and that you like where this is going? If you've got a spare minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts, but otherwise, thanks for reading!


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Sorry for the slight delay in posting this chapter – it's been a busy week, and unfortunately I just haven't been able to find any time to write until now. This chapter isn't the longest one I've ever written either (although it is the longest chapter in this story so far) but it includes plenty of hurt!John and angst from pretty much everyone involved, so I hope you'll like it anyway - enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Three**

* * *

When the next morning finally arrived, bright, crisp and cold, John woke slowly.

At first, he wasn't even really aware that he _was_ waking up. On some level he knew – or at least he _felt_ alive, but for those first few seconds his mind was so clouded by pain that he could barely comprehend anything beyond the simple fact that the darkness in his head was beginning to lift.

Eventually, after what felt like an age to John, his mind began to register other things as well. The beating of his heart; a little too fast, but beating nonetheless. The air being pulled into his lungs by instinct alone, keeping his body working while his mind fought to catch up. The white hot pain on the side of his temple, pulsing so intensely that it pushed all other aches and pains into the dark recesses of his clouded mind.

After a few more moments – and a few silent but heartfelt curse words – John was able to get control over the pain as well, finally allowing his mind the freedom to focus a little less on his own battered condition, and a little more on his immediate surroundings. With a bit of concentration, John could feel hard metal below his shivering body. He couldn't hear much going on around him, but the freezing cold chill in the air around him, as well as the soft breeze rustling in his dark hair, suggested that he was either outside or, if he was inside, that someone had left the door wide open to the elements.

 _Where was he…?_

John felt hungover - wrung out, nauseous, and with a hell of a banging headache - even though he knew there was almost no chance that he was. As the remnants of sleep finally began to leave him, achingly slowly but surely, John was able to focus a little more, drawing on every little bit of training he'd ever had in order to try and work out what was going on.

 _God, what the hell had happened to him?_

Well, there was only one way to find out, he supposed. John groaned, and finally dragged his eyes open. The sunlight hit him hard at first, but he blinked hard and eventually his vision adjusted.

To say that he was surprised to find himself in a jumper was an understatement. The fact that he was lying down on the cold, hard floor of said jumper was actually less of a surprise. It definitely explained why he was so uncomfortable, and why his body was aching from top to bottom. Now that he thought about it, John did have a vague memory of collapsing on the floor of the jumper late the night before, although he wasn't really sure why he had…

 _What the hell had happened?_

This time, as he glanced around the empty jumper from his position on the floor, John forced his mind to remember, focusing all his energy on bringing the elusive memories back to the forefront of his mind. He knew it would no doubt be painful – both figuratively and literally – but he'd always been the type of person who just _had_ to know. And this time was no different, not least because he was quite clearly hurt. For all he knew, he could still be in danger…

 _Please don't do this…_

With a wave of nausea that almost made him lose the little that was left in his stomach, the memories seemed to hit him all at once. John pulled himself upright with a desperation even he didn't fully understand, but immediately regretted the sudden movement when his vision flashed bright white and the stabbing pain in his right temple returned with a vengeance.

John groaned, but kept his body upright by sheer will alone, rubbing tiredly at his face in an attempt to keep himself conscious. He wouldn't be able to stand up any time soon, but even sitting upright was a victory he sorely needed. The truth was he ached all over, and even though the inside of the jumper was dry and relatively protected from the cold wind outside – despite the hatch door being left wide open- he couldn't stop the shivers that were wracking his body. Which, he realised, probably wasn't a good sign…

 _Please don't do this…_

The memories were back now, and John could do nothing to get rid of them. He remembered it all.

He remembered being marooned on a planet light-years from Atlantis. He remembered his friends punching him, kicking him, telling him that he deserved it. That he wouldn't be missed…

He remembered them leaving him behind, alone, and he remembered the gate and DHD blowing up not long after they had. After that, his memories were a bit blurry, which he had a sinking feeling had everything to do with the concussion-like symptoms he was experiencing at the moment.

John shook his head as he tried to pull himself together, steadying his rapid breathing as best he could. He couldn't afford to panic, not if he was going to survive this. Not if he was going to make it home…

With a force that called on all of his reserves, John focused his mind again, fiercely ignoring how much it hurt. He had a vague recollection of pulling himself free from the ropes that Ronan had used to tie him to the tree, and he remembered staggering away from the tree towards the dead jumper. He must've blacked out at that point though, because the next thing he remembered was falling into the pilot's seat in a desperate attempt to see if it could fly.

Of course it hadn't, and then John remembered trying to see what supplies he had instead, though he couldn't recall now if he'd been meaning to fix the ship, or if he'd just been focused on surviving a little bit longer. Either way, he must've blacked out again, because definitely hadn't made much headway on even that small task. He'd managed to find the medical supplies, that much he did know, but he could only remember picking up the first aid bag, not actually using any of the supplies in it. Which would certainly explain why his head was pounding and still felt wet to the touch. Blood, and plenty of it, which _definitely_ wasn't good…

John groaned again and tried to stop the room from spinning. He needed to get up. In this type of situation, the first few hours were crucial, and he'd spent his unconscious on the floor of the dead jumper. He needed the get the lay of the land, and figure out what he had to work with in terms of survival supplies.

 _Please don't do this…_

John shook his head and forced the memory away. The only way he was going to survive would be to focus _only_ on survival. Anything else would distract him, maybe even break him...

John took a shaky breath as he pulled himself to his feet.

He would get through this, he told himself. One way or another, he would survive.

* * *

Dr Carson Beckett was silent as he watched the rising chests of his three newest slumbering patients. The Infirmary itself was quiet as well, save for the steady beeping of the machine measuring the three separate heart-rates. It was early in the morning, and most of Atlantis hadn't woken up yet. Of course, as always, there were some that had barely had any sleep at all…

"So, what are your thoughts, Doctors?" Woolsey asked quietly as he looked down at the unconscious and unmoving forms of Ronan, Teyla and Rodney.

Carson sighed deeply, and shared a glance with Jennifer Keller as he tried to find the words to explain what he didn't even really understand himself. His mind and body were both exhausted, having been up all night trying to get to solve the mystery of what had happened to Atlantis' premier team, but he still felt no closer to an answer.

All they knew at the moment was that upon arriving on Atlantis, notably minus their team leader, Ronan, Teyla and Rodney had promptly collapsed. Woolsey hadn't even been able to get one word out before each of them had dropped to the floor like puppets that'd had their strings cut. It had been unnerving to witness, to say the least...

In the hours that had followed, and despite the best combined efforts of Beckett and Keller, the three members of SGA1 hadn't woken since, although their vitals had at least remained reassuringly steady. The downside, of course, was that the doctors still had no idea what the hell had happened to them, and even worse, they had no way of finding out where Colonel Sheppard was, or whether he was even okay…

"Doctor?" prompted Woolsey.

"Well, they're alive," Beckett replied finally, running a hand over his tired face. "I'm afraid we don't know much more than that right now."

"When do you think they'll wake?" Woolsey asked.

"It could be any time, or not at all," Jennifer replied, her eyes fixed on Rodney in particular. "We really have no way of knowing. They're not in a coma, I can tell you that much, but they're not experiencing normal REM sleep either. We simply don't know what caused this, and nothing we've tried has had any effect so far. We're not giving up, but until we get more information, I'm afraid it's up to them."

"I realise you're working blind doctor, but I can't in all good conscience allow anyone back to that planet until we know what happened, and how to stop it from happening again," Woolsey said heavily. "I just wish there was more we could do to find Colonel Sheppard..."

It was a Catch 22 situation, but it was something Beckett knew couldn't be helped. Woolsey, as leader of the expedition, had to think of the bigger picture. The Scot couldn't help but think of Colonel Sheppard though. Beckett knew that Ronan, Teyla and even Rodney would never have left John behind. Not willingly….

"Colonel Sheppard is a strong man," Beckett told Woolsey and Keller, almost trying to convince himself as much as them. "He'll find a way to survive, he always does. We'll get him back."

"If he isn't already…" Woolsey trailed off, unwilling, it seemed, to even finish the dreadful thought.

"There's not much point in speculating at the moment," Jennifer interjected. "We need more information, and until we get some, we _have_ to work off the assumption that Colonel Sheppard is alive. Like Carson said, we'll get him back. And in the meantime, we have three people right here to look after."

"Okay," Woolsey said with a sigh. "Well, keep me updated on their condition. If – no _when_ they wake up, I want to be the first to know."

"Of course," Beckett said. Then he turned to Jennifer. "I can stay and keep an eye on things for a while if you want to go and get some rest."

"I suppose I should," she replied, although she seemed reluctant to even admit that much. "I don't want to leave, but I have a feeling I'll be needing the energy sooner rather than later."

"Aye," Beckett agreed, glancing down at the slumbering team-mates. "I reckon we all will."

* * *

John sighed deeply as he scratched roughly at the stubble on his jaw. When he'd first woken up, he'd been more worried by how much time he'd lost than anything else – particularly since his watch was useless on a planet that almost certainly didn't follow Atlantis time – however judging by the length of the stubble on his jaw, something that was growing itchier by the minute, he'd only lost one day at the most.

Which was one more than he would've liked, obviously, but certainly less than he'd feared at first.

John swallowed back the nausea and dizziness that were still plaguing him, and instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He was determined to walk at least the perimeter of the clearing and check out what the surrounding area had to offer before he allowed himself to rest. If this was to be his home, he had to make the most of it.

Despite his doubts, John knew deep down that Atlantis would be looking for him, and if he knew his people - and he did - then it was a safe bet that they would eventually find him. He just had to hold out long enough for them to find him alive.

John had undergone extensive survival training since he'd joined the Airforce, so he knew what he was doing. The fact that this was an unknown planet didn't matter. All he needed was a water source, a sustainable food source, some form of shelter, and something to offer protection against any predators in the immediate vicinity. The latter was already proving the most difficult, particularly as his team hadn't left him with any guns. He'd managed to find two hunting knives, but how much protection they'd offer against any potential attackers remaining to be seen.

God, he really hoped there weren't any attackers…

John shook his head and focused back his internal survival check-list. The rest of them were proving a little easier to sort out. It helped that he already had shelter in the form of the dead jumper. He'd tried everything he could think of to get it moving, but he'd not had any luck so far. But even though it was dead, it was sturdy and waterproof, and sleeping on the floor of the jumper definitely beat sleeping out in the open. It wasn't perfect – especially since he hadn't been able to get the hatch door to close– but it would do, and one big bonus that came from having the jumper was that the jumper contained plenty of supplies – medical as well as food and drink.

The food and water probably wouldn't last very long since they hadn't packed for a long mission, but it would be enough to him the chance to recover physically before he would be forced to go searching for a fresh water source or hunting for food.

John shivered, and pulled his jacket more closely around his body in an attempt to keep warm. He knew he would need to start a fire when he got back to the jumper, so he made a point to collect the driest leaves and twigs he could find as he continued to make his way around the clearing. He hadn't been able to shake the chills which had been wracking his body for the couple of hours, and he knew from experience that his condition would only deteriorate if he didn't address it soon. The fact that he was still dressed in slightly damp clothes probably wasn't helping, but since he didn't have any other clothes to change into at the moment - not even a spare jacket - he didn't really have a choice. Once he got the fire going, he change out of them for a bit and try to dry them off. Hopefully then he'd start feeling a bit better…

John swallowed back his nausea, as he stumbled slightly. On top of the chills – and his generally battered condition - he knew he probably had a concussion. Generally speaking, the advice would be that he should rest – something he again knew from experience - but since he was alone, he simply didn't have any choice but to keep going. He had to do this now, because if he didn't, he sure as hell wouldn't live long enough to do it later.

 _Please don't do this…_

Damn them for leaving him behind, John thought suddenly, clenching his fists as he rode the first wave of anger. His friends had done this to him, intentionally or not, and he hated it. He hated being the one who always got left behind. What was it about his personality that made people do this to him?

John knew he wasn't being fair, but he felt sick, the pain in his head was spiking, and his body felt exhausted beyond all comprehension. He could barely put one foot in front of the other, but he knew it would be a while before he'd be in any position to recover properly. Sighing deeply, he began to make his way slowly back to the jumper.

Survive. He just had to survive. Thinking about his friends wasn't helping. He was only into day two of his exile, and already he was falling apart. He had to get a grip on himself and forget about them. It was the only way he was going to get through this.

Survive, he told himself, almost like a mantra. He just had to survive.

* * *

Back on Atlantis, the hours were passing slowly. It felt a little like they were in limbo - frozen in time, waiting for something to happen, but dreading it at the same time.

Of course, Beckett - who had now been awake for 25 hours and counting - was so exhausted by the act of waiting for something to happen, that he almost missed it when it did.

It started with a change in the beeping heart-rate monitor. It wasn't all that unusual for unconscious patients' heartrates to fluctuate, so Beckett dismissed it at first. What he couldn't dismiss, however, was when Rodney's hand began clench, and his eyelids began to twitch.

Beckett was at Rodney's side in seconds, heart racing in anticipation.

"Rodney," he said softly. "Can you hear me? You're in the infirmary."

Keeping his eyes fixed on Rodney, Beckett signalled to the soldier he knew was standing on duty by the door. He had a feeling he was going to need back up.

"Come on, Rodney," Beckett encouraged. "That's it. Time to wake up."

Rodney's eyes flickered again. This time his other hand started to twitch as well, and he moved his head slightly to the side. Beckett held his breath, then released it slowly in an attempt to calm down his racing heart.

"Come on, Rodney - "

"Carson," Rodney mumbled, eyes still firmly closed. "Shut up."

The doctor's relief was palpable. Beckett could feel it in his bones, and he almost sagged with the strength of the feeling that had hit him in that moment.

"I can't, I'm afraid," Beckett continued, pulling himself together long enough to do his job. "You need to wake up."

"Don't want to," Rodney replied, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed. "Head hurts."

"I'm sure it does," Beckett replied, "But Rodney we need your help."

That seemed to get through to the stubborn scientist, and this time Rodney cracked his eyes open. "What happened?"

"Actually, we were hoping you could tell us."

"No idea," Rodney replied, grimacing slightly.

Carson watched in silence as Rodney pulled up his head slightly and took in his surroundings, his gaze landing on Ronan and Teyla, both of whom were still unconscious. The scientist nodded towards them. "They okay?"

"We're not really sure," Beckett replied, relaxing slightly when he realised his backup had finally arrived in the form of three burly marines. About time. He turned his attention back to Rodney. "How do you feel?"

"Head hurts," Rodney repeated, shooting him a disdainful look. Beckett bit back his own sharp reply, recognising that it was neither the time nor the place for their usual bickering.

"Anything else?" Beckett replied patiently, settling for a roll of his eyes instead.

Rodney, however, was no longer listening. Instead, he was looking around at the other occupants of the infirmary, a frown on his face as his gaze fell on Teyla first, then Ronan, and then finally the empty bed beside them. Beckett could almost pinpoint the moment that the scientist put two and two together.

"Carson?"

"Yes, Rodney?" Beckett replied with a sigh.

"Where's Sheppard?"

* * *

 **A/N –** Dun, dun, dunnn! So, Rodney doesn't remember what happened to Sheppard - that, I'm afraid, is going to make thing a little more difficult for the rescue team! Of course, John isn't going to have it easy either (quite the opposite actually), but I won't say anything more now since I don't want to spoil it for you all! In fact, I'll just leave it at this - I hope everyone's still in character, and that you liked this chapter. If you did, I'd really appreciate it if you could take a minute to give me your thoughts. Otherwise, and until next time, thanks for reading!


	4. Part Four

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello, and welcome to the newest instalment of this little tale. Thank you for all your lovely reviews after the last chapter – you're all too kind! This chapter is similar to the last one in that it is quite introspective to start with, but I suppose that's what you get when your main character is on his own with no one to talk to! Having said that, I think I've come up with a way around that (sort of) which will be revealed towards the end of this chapter. I'm a bit nervous about it, but hopefully you'll like it! So with that in mind - and without further ado – on with the story…

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Four**

* * *

By the end of his second day of exile, John felt a little better – physically, at least.

Once he'd made it back to the jumper after his exploration of the clearing earlier that morning, he'd stayed true to his word and simply camped down for the rest of the day in an effort to try and recover. It had taken some time, but eventually the dizziness had subsided to the point where he didn't feel constantly on the edge of losing consciousness, and his headache – whilst undoubtedly still there – had gone from white hot knives poking around in his brain to merely a slightly overweight man stomping all over it.

John sighed again as he poked languidly at his gradually dying fire, glancing down at the unappetizing MRE that was slowly heating up in the flickering flames. The sun was setting in the sky above him, and there was a definite chill in the night-time air, but at least John felt a little better placed to face anything the planet had to throw at him now – a big contrast to how he'd felt when he'd first woken up that morning.

 _Please don't do this._

John shook his head forcefully and concentrated on keeping the small flames alive. It hadn't been easy – even with a pack of matches - but he'd eventually managed to get the fire started just outside the open hatch of the jumper. It meant he wouldn't die of smoke inhalation – as he most certainly would have done had he started the fire _inside_ the jumper – and yet it was still close enough to the hatch that he could sit on the edge of the ramp of the jumper while he tried to cook something vaguely edible from his food supplies.

John closed his eyes briefly and paused for a moment, holding out both his hands towards the flickering flames in an attempt get as much warmth from the meagre fire as he could whilst his pathetic 'meal' cooked.

As he waited, John considered his condition. He definitely felt much more comfortable than he had earlier on in the day – mainly because he'd finally been able to dry out his damp clothes by the fire - but he doubted he would feel completely warm until he could get off the damn planet altogether and make it back to civilisation – or at the very least somewhere with central heating and a shower. A washing machine would be nice too, John thought bitterly, pulling slightly at his dirty clothes. The rainwater, whilst undoubtedly soaking him to the skin, had done nothing to clean his standard-issue clothes, so despite being dry for the first time since arriving on the planet, John still felt unclean and thoroughly miserable.

And sick, and hungry, and thirsty, and alone…

The fact that he had been sat in nothing but his boxers and an emergency blanket for a couple of hours that afternoon whilst his clothes had dried hadn't exactly been the highlight of his day either, and it would have been mildly embarrassing had there been anyone there to see him. But there wasn't.

Alone. He was alone.

As if he'd needed the reminder, John thought bitterly. Huddling as close to the fire as possible in order to conserve his body heat, he thought back to the miserable day he'd just endured. The lack of suitable distractions was leading his mind down tracks he really wished he could avoid. John shivered. Even being marooned with Kavanagh would be better than this...

The rain had mostly held off throughout the day, thankfully, but John still hadn't left the relative safety of the jumper beyond his brief exploration that morning – and it wasn't out of some desperate sense of self-preservation either. No, it was mainly because he simply couldn't find the energy. The events of the last couple of days had taken everything from him, so instead John had spent the rest of the day – when he wasn't passing out, of course - doing yet another painstaking inventory of his meagre supplies. Anything to take his mind off his situation.

Anything to help him forget.

Of course, that had ended up backfiring spectacularly when he'd realised that his previous inventory had been a little too optimistic. He had enough MREs and power bars to last him at least three or four days, that much was still true, but what he didn't have was a good supply of water. He'd already started to ration what little he did have, but he didn't expect it to last much longer than a day, maybe two days at the most.

From his survival training – and his own extensive experience in this type of situation – John knew that a fresh water supply was the most crucial thing to find. A human – particularly one as concussed and battered as he was – would only last three days at the most without water. He wasn't desperate yet, but he was only going to get weaker the longer he left it. Tomorrow he would have to start actively searching for a river, or at least a large body of water that didn't look too dirty; anything he could survive on until his friends came back for him.

 _Please don't leave me..._

John shook his head and gave his MRE a nudge, trying to decide if it looked edible yet. He wasn't sure he will willing to risk it yet, so he allowed his mind to wander again.

John knew from experience that it would be risky to drink from _any_ water source he found, but since he was on an unknown planet, he was probably already taking a risk with his health simply by just being there. And if it was a choice between dying from a bacterial infection, or dying from thirst, John knew which one he would go for.

Of course he hadn't been left with much choice – Ronan, Teyla and Rodney had seen to that - and at least he had found a few purification tablets in the medical bag that would at least minimise that risk of a bad reaction to the water when he inevitably did take a drink. At least until he could set up something that would start collecting the rain water.

John poked at the fire again, and finally took his food of the heat. It smelt as unappetising as it looked, but he knew better than to throw it away. No, he'd force himself to eat every last bite, because knew that he would need all the energy he could get in the next few days, particularly if he was going to explore his new home properly.

And he would, he decided firmly, ignoring the pounding in his head with a forceful shrug as he tried to keep the rising bitterness at bay.

Because of course, once again he hadn't been left with much choice. Being deserted alone meant that he had no one to rely on but himself. And John knew that if he didn't get off his ass and find a fresh water source tomorrow, he would die not long after that.

John sighed, and took a bite of the steaming hot but tasteless food, chewing slowly, even though his hunger was diminishing with every second that passed.

Throughout both his childhood and adulthood, John had never really been a social outcast, but he'd also been quite content to spend time alone. In fact, that had been one of the main reasons he'd taken the deployment to Antarctica. The solitude he'd found in that cold, barren land had helped him through a pretty rough patch, and he'd really benefitted from the freedom that had come with being alone there – the opportunity to be completely free from judgment, good or bad, had been more than refreshing. It has _saved_ him.

The trouble was, he had a feeling that this time it would be different.

This _felt_ different.

"Come on guys," John finally muttered aloud, a little hoarsely, a little desperately, staring straight into the fire as he almost willed his wish to come true. "I'm right here. Get your asses back here, and come find me."

 _Please don't leave me alone._

* * *

"We have to go back."

Ronan, still wearing a very thin hospital gown and nothing else, was sat on the edge of his bed, arms folding across his chest, and looking for all the world as if he would punch a hole through the wall if he didn't get his way in the next ten seconds.

Rodney watched almost detachedly from his own bed as Major Lorne stood a little straighter, clearly preparing for trouble, and as Woolsey – consciously or not – took a step back, his bureaucrat hands rising immediately in the universal sign of surrender. "Mr Dex…"

Rodney didn't blame him for looking worried. Ronan really did have the look of someone who was not going to take 'no' for an answer. So did Teyla for that matter, although she was showing a little more restraint than Ronan. Her face was saying plenty though, and it was clear that Woolsey wasn't quite yet used to such strong opposition to his requests. Woolsey looked intimidated, even a little scared, which would have greatly amused Rodney had he been in any sort of mood to appreciate it.

But he wasn't.

"John is missing," Teyla said simply, looking up from her own hospital bed as if that statement was all that needed to be said for the argument to be won. In Rodney's opinion, it was, but he knew that Woolsey – a man of rules, of procedures, of set steps to be followed - wouldn't quite agree with that assessment.

"We're going back," Ronan repeated with a low growl, pulling himself off the bed in one move. He yanked of the various monitors attached to his body, and stood on unsteady feet. His eyes looked wild but he seemed, to Rodney at least, to be in full possession of his faculties.

"Ronan, lad, sit down before you do yourself some damage," Carson said, hovering by the big man's side like the mother-hen he was. Ronan ignored the doctor, and Rodney decided to take advantage of the distraction by pulling himself out of bed. His legs were wobbly, but they held.

"Rodney, not you too!" Jennifer exclaimed, having noticed Rodney's efforts. Rodney gritted his teeth but refused to let her concern filter through.

"We're going back," Rodney said firmly, careful to keep his voice free of the shakiness he felt deep inside. Because the truth was, he was struggling to keep a lid on the wave of anxiety and guilt that was welling up deep inside.

John was missing. And the worst thing was, they had no clue where he was, or what the hell had happened to him. No matter how hard they tried - and Rodney knew they were all trying pretty damn hard - they couldn't remember what had happened after they'd arrived on PX6-662. Of course, one thing was abundantly clear; whatever had happened to them on that planet, they'd left John behind.

God, they had to go back…

"McKay…" Lorne began, concern etched across his face. Rodney could see the strain that being in charge was putting him under, but Rodney's sympathy for the Major didn't stretch far enough for him to stop. "The Colonel wouldn't want you to get yourselves killed trying to find him."

"Of course he wouldn't, the self-sacrificing idiot," Rodney snapped. "I can't say I'm too crazy about the idea myself, but he's missing, and the only way we're going to find him is to _actually look!"_

"We don't know what you would be walking into," Woolsey argued. "We've already sent the MALP back through, but there's no indication that the area is safe. For all we know the natives could just be waiting to ambush you. We simply can't risk it, not until we get more information."

"It is a risk, yes, but an acceptable one," Teyla replied, and Rodney nodded in agreement. "It is a risk that we face every time we go through the Stargate."

"Excuse me," Carson interjected. "But in case any of you have forgotten, you were all _unconscious_ just a few hours ago. You can try and hide it as much as you want, but I know you're still as weak as kittens, so if you think you're in any condition to go back to that planet today – "

"We're going back," Ronan interrupted gruffly, standing straighter, almost in direct defiance of Carson's words. Rodney rolled his eyes.

"What Conan is trying to say in his own oh so eloquent way is that we're not going to let a few insignificant dizzy spells stop us from going back to get Sheppard. He'd do the same for any of us, and you know it!"

"With all due respect, Dr McKay, I can order you to stay," Woolsey replied without much feeling. Rodney was getting the impression that Woolsey wanted them to go back to the planet as much as they did, but that he was also worried about the trouble they would inevitably cause when they did. Rodney glanced over at Ronan, who looked ready to start a war, and realised that Woolsey might actually have a point there…

"Sorry, Sir," Lorne replied, turning to face Woolsey before Rodney could respond. "But I doubt you'll find anyone here who will help you enforce that order. Truth is, there isn't a single soldier in this city who would willingly fire any of Sheppard's team. Not even Rodney."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Thanks…"

"And," Lorne continued, taking a firm stance as he faced down Woolsey. "I sure as hell won't order them to. If anyone's going to find the Colonel and bring him back, it's his team."

"And, I think you're forgetting that I'm not military," Rodney argued, turning to face Woolsey as well. "I realise you're the commander of the expedition, but I can leave any time I like. I'm a scientist, I'm under no obligation to be here. And rest assured, if I do decide to leave, good luck getting everything to run smoothly. This city needs me a hell of a lot more than I need it."

"You'd really leave?" Woolsey asked. "You'd give up your research? Your home? Your career?"

"For John Sheppard?" Rodney replied, not a trace of doubt on his face, or in his heart. "Yes. Yes, I would."

* * *

Ignoring the early morning chill in the air, John trudged through the trees, stumbling every now and then on the uneven ground as he hacked his way through the forest. He was still exhausted and aching all over – both inside and out - but he definitely felt better than he had the day before. His afternoon and night of rest had done him some good, and he finally felt a little more capable of putting his survival plan into action.

Step one of said plan was to find a water source - which accounted for why John was making his way through the forest at an hour so early that most of the local wildlife was probably still waking up.

Since the jumper was dead, John had no technology to perform scans of the surrounding area, so he'd been left with no choice but to do it the old fashioned way. He'd decided to be as methodical as he could – determined not to waste what little time he had. He decided that he would walk for an hour in one direction, marking the trees with his knife as he went. That way, even if he didn't find any water, at least he would at least be able to find his way back to the jumper.

John's sense were on high alert as he marked another tree. He was trying to keep half an eye out for any wildlife, particularly those on the ground. Not because they posed a threat – although they probably did – but because where there was life, there was water. So far they were all being stubborn, but if he could just find some animal tracks, he would be able to follow them to their water source, and then everything would be okay…

John scoffed at himself as he continued on through the trees, adjusting his backpack slightly on his shoulders as he went. Yeah, because water would solve _everything_ , he thought sarcastically. John stopped again, and raised his knife, ready to mark the next tree. Then he heard it…

A loud growl and a thump, followed by a high-pitched cry. Then silence.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and John stilled immediately. He'd been in this type of situation often enough to know when something was wrong.

Something was definitely wrong.

Moving slowly, John gripped his knife tightly, holding it out in front of him as he continued to move along the trail. He could hear rustling in the trees – something big was moving around in there, and John wasn't sure why the hell he wasn't running from it. One thing was for sure – he'd found the local wildlife. And it didn't sound friendly…

Regardless, John kept moving forward slowly, carefully, ears pricked for any sound. The rustling was getting quieter, thankfully - obviously it was moving away - but it was replaced by another sound; a soft whimpering, coming from somewhere on his left.

It was close, but quiet – so quiet that John could barely hear it. It was unmistakable though, and John swallowed hard, gripping his knife even more tightly.

It was the sound of pain.

While he strained his ears - evaluating any potential threat the animal might present - John didn't move. If he was being honest with himself, he just didn't know what to do. His instincts were screaming at him to help the creature whimpering in pain, but his head was cautioning him with images of his leg being ripped off by the same rapid animal that had no doubt attacked the creature he could hear whimpering now.

John shook his head, dislodging the macabre image as best he could. Then he took a deep breath, and made his decision. No matter how battered and exhausted he was, he was not the type of man to leave a fellow creature in the sort of pain he himself knew only too well. At the very least, he could put the poor animal out of its misery.

With that in mind, John – and with his senses still on high alert – began to make his way slowly towards the noise. The whimpering was becoming quieter and quieter, even though John was certain that he was getting closer to it. That could only mean one thing; the animal was dying…

John pushed his way through the trees with a bit more urgency, not even aware himself of why the hell it mattered so much to him that he get to the animal before it died. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had any contact with another living creature in three days, or maybe it was because he knew all too well how terrible it was to be left for dead…

John shook his head and held his knife out in front of him, moving through the last few trees. Once he worked his way into a small clearing, his eyes scanned the surrounding area. It didn't take him long to spot the source of the noise.

It was a dog.

Well, John told himself, it _looked_ like a dog. Kind of like a big German shepherd, or maybe even a small, dog-like bear. Whatever it was, the animal in front of him was lying on its side, red blood pooling around one of its hind legs. John swallowed and began to creep forward towards the creature.

He didn't know why, but John wanted to save it. He'd come with the intention of putting the creature out of its misery, but faced with the choice now, he knew that he couldn't do it.

"Dammit," John muttered to himself as he crouched down next to the animal. The creature seemed oblivious to his presence – too caught up in the pain of the injury. John, for his part, was trying not to think too closely about what had _caused_ such a horrific injury. In this case, he had a feeling that ignorance really would be bliss.

John shrugged his backpack off, and pulled out his first aid kit. He knew it was probably stupid to use some of his supplies on the creature – especially since it would probably die anyway – but John couldn't stand the thought of watching while the life slowly left the creature's pain-glazed, crystal blue eyes. Not if he could prevent it.

He'd felt useless and out of control from the moment they'd crash landed on this planet, but this was something he _could_ do. He felt a second wind of energy rush through him, and John squared his shoulders in preparation. The he got to work.

Looking a little more closely as he pressed a bandage on the larger of the wounds, John could see enough of the dog-like creature's size and physical make up to know that it definitely looked like a German shepherd on steroids, albeit with jet-black fur all over instead of the more common tan-black mix.

John shook his head – after all these years, he really shouldn't be surprised by the strange similarities that popped up every now and then on world's lightyears away from Earth, but he was. In fact, the eyes of the animal were the only unusual feature that John could make out – bright shining blue – but even they weren't _that_ weird. Glazed over and shining with pain, John had seen that look before, far too many times in fact. It was the look of something that expected to die.

The dog-creature mewled again, its leg jerking slightly. John immediately stilled, resting a hand on the animal's side as he tried to provide as much comfort as he dared. He could feel the heart pumping in his chest, but he forced himself to be calm. He couldn't flinch. Animals could sense fear. Weakness. He couldn't be weak. He wouldn't be weak...

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a little hoarse from lack of use. "My name's John. I won't hurt you, I promise."

The dog made no sign that it'd heard John, instead curling up even further. John felt his heart clench as he noted the pain on its face again.

Suddenly, John wanted to take that pain away. He adjusted his grip on his knife and crouch over the distressed animal. It would only take one swipe – quick and clean across the creature's exposed neck – and it would be over. No more pain.

Except John still couldn't do it. He felt like a selfish coward, but there was no way he was going to let this animal die if he could help it. Even if he had to drag it back to the jumper himself and work on it all day and night, he was going to save this creature if it was the last thing he did.

 _Please don't leave me._

"Hey," John soothed, deciding that a constant stream of words would probably be preferable to the harsh panting of the dying animal on the ground. "I'm here. You're going to be alright, okay? I'm going to look after you. I'm not going anywhere, you hear me? You and me, we're both going to be okay."

* * *

 **A/N** – So the team are on the way back to the first planet (maybe), and John's made a new friend (sort of). Things will hopefully move a little more quickly now, although I do love slow-burning angst so I certainly won't be rushing things either. If you can spare a minute or two, please leave a review with your thoughts on this chapter, and on the story so far. I'd love to hear from you! And also, if you've got any name ideas for John's dog-bear, please let me know – I need all the help I can get!


	5. Part Five

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Sorry again for being slightly slow with uploading this chapter. Life has been busy of late – good, but busy. Anyway, it's here now. Thank you so much for all your kind reviews after the last chapter. Hopefully you'll like this chapter as well – enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Five**

* * *

John kept watch in silence as the large, black dog finally fell into a peaceful sleep.

It was a miracle that the animal was still alive at all, really. When John had first carried it back to the jumper - the poor beast still crying and dying and bleeding everywhere - he hadn't really believed, even then, that the dog would make it.

Of course, he hadn't let that stop him, but even he was forced to admit that all his efforts had probably had more to do with his own sheer stubbornness than anything else. So many things had gone against him in the last few days; he'd refused - even as exhausted and hurt as he was - to be beaten by the dog's extensive injuries as well.

Of course, as with everything else that had happened to him lately, that had turned out to be much easier said than done…

John bit back a yawn and rubbed at his neck, drained by the last couple of hard-fought and frantic hours. The world around him was silent, with barely even a rustle of leaves as only the lightest of winds blew through the surrounding trees. He could hear the odd bird, maybe even a few howls far away in the distance, but otherwise it was quiet, and he was alone.

 _Please don't leave me…_

Except, John thought, now there was also the dog.

As he watched the sleeping dog take shaky, yet regular breaths on the hard floor of the jumper, John tiredly wiped his blood-smeared on his already dirty pants, and tried remind himself why the hell he was trying to save an animal that was probably going to maul him to death as soon as it woke up.

Unfortunately it didn't take him long to come up with the answer.

He didn't want to be alone.

John felt pathetic to even admit it, but he couldn't deny the truth. He didn't want to be alone. Thrust into a new, desolate world against his will - a world where he had been forced to fight the elements for his very survival from the moment he'd landed there - was bad enough, but the thing that he found most difficult, the thing he hated far more than any physical pain he'd been forced to endure so far, was that he didn't have anyone to talk to.

Which was...pathetic.

John sighed deeply, and closed his eyes as the soft, midday breeze ran over his face. As pathetic as it made him feel – and it really, really did - he still couldn't help but think that the last couple of hours would've been a hell of a lot easier had there been someone else to help him carry both the metaphorical and the literal burdens.

Once he'd managed to finally get the dog back to the jumper – using any means necessary, including hauling the 100lb beast over his shoulder and even dragging it carefully across the ground at one point when it had all got too much - John had been ready to collapse himself.

However instead of taking an impromptu and not entirely voluntary nap, John had been left with no choice but to shake it off and get to work. He would always be the first to admit that he didn't have the medical talents – or indeed the equipment – that Carson and Jennifer had so often employed on him over the years, but he was no slouch in the medical field either. His trouble-magnet, accident-prone team had seen to that…

 _Please don't do leave me…_

"Dammit," he muttered angrily, wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to hold off some of the chill in the surrounding air. John shook himself hard – in an effort to literally shake the painful memory away – and instead inched forward so that he could make sure his makeshift stitches, staggered messily across the dog's hind legs, were holding. So far, so good, he decided, although truthfully anything would have been an improvement on the condition the dog had been in when he'd found it.

John had already done a closer examination of the animal's wounds in order to assess the damage, but he checked again now, just in case he'd missed something. The steadily seeping wound on its hind leg had clearly been the result of a large bite mark, and had required extensive stitching to stop the heavy bleeding. It was doing okay now, but John knew that it would be painful when the dog finally woke up.

The animal's other injury – three long, deep scratches stretching across the length of its back – had actually had John a little more worried. Not because it had been at all life-threatening – it really hadn't been, not even close - but because it had to have been caused by a huge claw. Judging by the size of the injury, if the dog had been attacked by a member of its own species – which was always a possibility in nature, John knew – it had to have been one twice its size.

Which was not good…

John rubbed at his face, wincing as he made contact with the fresh bruise and cut by his right eye, a reminder that bringing the dog back to his camp was probably the most stupid and reckless thing he'd done in a long, long, time.

When he'd first got the beast back to the jumper, John had only managed to work on the dog's wounds for about five minutes before it had woken up. Then the animal, no doubt delirious with pain, had started to fight him furiously – even going so far as to try and bite him – and it would have probably killed him had the beast been in a better physical condition. As it was, John had been able to hold it down long enough for its energy reserves to eventually dwindle. The big animal had fallen into an uneasy sleep again then, and John had been more than a little relieved.

And yet even with the animal unconscious, John had still made no attempt to move it back to where he'd found it, and all because he had wanted the company, however hostile that company might turn out to be.

He didn't want to be alone.

Glancing down at the now peacefully slumbering dog, John ran a hand through his messy hair, and sat back, his breathing a little laboured and shaky, and his head pounding. God, he was exhausted, and it was only midday. The days seemed to shorter on this planet than they were on Atlantis, but he estimated that there was still a few more hours to go until nightfall.

John bit back another yawn and tried to shake himself more awake. The new days and nights were hard for John to get used to. It felt like it should still be the middle of the night, early morning at the latest, and yet it was almost halfway through the day. God, his sleeping pattern was going to be really screwed up by the time he team returned for him. That's if they ever did…

 _Please don't leave me…_

John clenched his jaw and shook his head defiantly. They _would_ come back. He had to keep the faith, he _had_ to, or he would go mad in a week.

Idly he wondered what they were doing back on Atlantis. Had Ronan, Rodney and Teyla made it back? Were they okay? Were they looking for him?

 _Please don't leave me alone…_

John shoved that thought away again, and tried his best to focus on the present. On the here and now, and not the past, or what might or might not be in the future. The trouble was that even though he was exhausted, he still felt way too wired to actually sleep. It was only the middle of the day anyway, and he had plenty he needed to do before the light faded later that evening, even if he couldn't actually find the energy to do any of it.

He had plenty to keep his desperate mind occupied.

As if it had heard his thoughts, the dog whimpered in its sleep. John frowned, and lay a hand gently on the dog's soft, black fur, hoping to at least provide a little bit of comfort to the injured animal.

"We'll be okay," John murmured, keeping his hand moving slowly in what he hoped was still a comforting gesture. "Everything's going to be okay."

And if he got a little bit of comfort in return…well, there was no one around to judge him for it.

* * *

"Are you done yet?" Rodney asked irritably as Beckett shone the light in his eye.

"I'll be done when I'm done, Rodney," Beckett replied, barely even twitching at Rodney's scowl. Of course, the lack of reaction only served to annoy Rodney even more.

"Be done quicker," Ronan muttered from his own bed.

Even though they had been given the go-ahead to return to the planet, both doctors Beckett and Keller had insisted on final medical checks. They'd called it non-negotiable, and since Rodney, Ronan and Teyla had essentially already won their argument, none of them – even Rodney – saw the sense in pushing it any further.

Of course it didn't mean they had to like it.

"How's your head feeling?" Beckett asked quietly. "Have you remembered anything else?"

Not long after the team had finally received the go-ahead for the return mission to PX6-662, their memories had started to return. It hadn't been all at once though, and certainly not with any sort of clarity. Rodney likened it to a book that had smudged words or pages missing. In contrast, Teyla believed it to be similar to memories of bad dreams, whereby only the worst parts of the nightmare could be recalled the next day.

Ronan, typically, had just grunted, growled, and demanded a quick solution so that they could go and find Sheppard already.

"No," Rodney replied with a hardened scowl. "I remember rain, and Sheppard yelling at us not to leave him behind." He swallowed hard. "Then I remember leaving him behind."

"You don't remember where you were?" Carson pressed. Rodney didn't mind; he knew the doctor wanted Sheppard back as much as they did.

"No," Rodney replied quietly. Both Ronan and Teyla were quiet in their own beds; neither of them could remember any more than he could about where they'd abandoned Sheppard. Only that they had.

"It was not PX6-66V," Teyla added quietly.

"No, it wasn't," Rodney agreed. "Not unless the climate had changed drastically during our time there."

"So why are you so intent on returning there?" Carson asked. "If the Colonel is somewhere else…"

"It's a place to start," Rodney replied with a shrug that was anything by casual. "If you've got a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it."

"Rodney…"

"Didn't think so," Rodney interrupted. "Anyway, we have to go back. This has something to do with that cult we encountered, I can feel it. It's not a coincidence that we can't remember much about what happened once we arrived on the planet. There are answers there, and I for one am not giving up until we've found them."

"Sheppard's counting on us," Ronan added, a tinge of anger in his voice. "We're not giving up until we found him too."

* * *

Three hours later, John trudged slowly back to the jumper, idly rubbing at his neck as he tried to keep his exhaustion at bay long enough to make it back safely and in one piece. His backpack was weighing him down, but for once, he didn't mind. This time, it was a good weight. A life-saving weight.

He'd found water.

Well, he found a small trickle of a stream. Not exactly the water source he'd been hoping for, but John didn't care. It had seemed relatively clean, and it would keep him alive for now; that was good enough for him.

John stumbled slightly as he made his way slowly through the trees, but - buoyed somewhat by his discovery - he straightened his back and pushed on. It hadn't been easy, but for the first time since he'd arrived on the planet, he actually felt like there was a chance he might survive the whole ordeal in one piece.

 _Please don't do this..._

John shook his head, and dislodged the unwelcome memory a little more easily this time, pushing his thoughts back to his discovery as he continued his short trek 'home'.

Logic and science had always dictated that where there was water, there was life; and that where there was life, there was water.

It was a simple fact, undeniable, and yet until he'd finally stumbled across the small, trickling stream, he hadn't truly believed it.

Even with his lingering doubts however, John had still used that logic as the focal point of his desperate search. He'd realised that the dog he had rescued – and of course the beast that had attacked it so viciously – had to have been surviving on something. With his rescue dog recovering back at the jumper and showing no signs of waking up any time soon, John had decided to take advantage of the respite and make a return journey to the 'scene of the crime' to see if logic and reason held up.

And even on this alien world, light-years away from home, they had - it was only now that he'd actually found the water - cold, fresh and flowing - that he could appreciate just how much he had been counting on it.

It had been a risk, but it had paid off, and as he continued his journey back to the jumper, John revelled in the fact that he could now take a long drink from his canteen - now that he didn't have to drink sparingly, he couldn't get enough. And the good news was that there was plenty more where that had come from.

Not too far from where he'd rescued his dog either, he thought to himself. John had found that particular spot easily enough - luckily, the knife marks he'd left on the trees had been clear enough for him to backtrack through the forest, and it hadn't taken him long to get back to where the dog had been attacked. From there, he hadn't wasted any time in looking for well-worn animal tracks, banking his life on the theory that the local wildlife would congregate around a water source.

When he'd actually found it, he'd almost sunk to the ground in sheer relief, although he had enough experience to at least keep his senses on high alert.

He knew even now that he had to be cautious, but he figured that if there was an animal out there capable to killing him, there probably wasn't a lot he could do to stop it.

As his boots crunched over the forest floor, instead of dwelling on things that were ultimately out of his control, John's thoughts meandered back to his unconscious 'guest'. Despite his best efforts, he could already feel himself becoming attached to the large animal. Whilst it had been recovering, John had kept up a constant stream of one-way conversation, hoping to keep the animal relaxed and calm. He'd never been much of a talker – by far preferring actions to words – but he knew from his own experience with animals back on Earth that action wasn't always the way to go with a jumpy, threatened, and unpredictable animal. Instead he was calm, gentle, all in an attempt to get the dog to associate his voice and scent with safety rather than pain.

John shook his head. He had no idea if it was working so far, but it made John feel better; or at least, made his feel less alone. The fact that the dog couldn't talk back didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would, and he'd even gone so far as to name the creature – a male, he'd quickly discovered.

At first he'd considered naming the dog 'Chewie' – he'd always fancied himself as a bit of a Han Solo - but that name had just reminded him of Ronan, which in turn had reminded him of his team and of Atlantis, and that had just made him angry, and bitter, and all manner of things that he wished he wasn't.

Then he'd considered calling the animal 'Wilson', after Tom Hanks' Castaway volleyball, but John didn't think he was quite that far gone just yet, even if it would have been a pretty appropriate name for his new, silent companion, all things considered.

In the end, he'd settled on 'Jett'. It wasn't the most imaginative name, but then, it didn't remind him of Atlantis, and in the end, John was a simple man. The dog's fur was jet black, and John liked flying jets; hence Jett. Simple.

When John had suggested the name to the animal, it hadn't reacted at all, but since the animal had still been unconscious at the time, that wasn't really all that concerning.

Jett had still been sleeping when John had left on his search for water as well. John knew that he'd probably live to regret the decision to leave the animal behind, but it wasn't like he'd had much choice. He couldn't exactly lug the beast along with him, but he'd had no choice but to go.

John stumbled again, and he swore loudly when this time he went down. He hit the ground hard, jarring his leg, and ripping pants at the knee.

"Dammit," he muttered, chest heaving slightly as he tried to work through the new pain, pulling his bag off his shoulders. His right knee hurt, and he'd bloodied it up a little, but it wasn't life-threatening. In fact, he was probably more annoyed by the rip in his pants.

His clothes were already pretty damaged through general wear and tear, but it wasn't like he had a choice of what to wear. He couldn't exactly go walking around naked, not because it would be embarrassing – he was still very much alone on the planet apart from Jett – but because the climate was still a little too cold and wet for him to be _that_ exposed to the elements.

It wasn't like he could make his own clothes out of leaves and bark either – that kind of skill wasn't exactly something that they taught in basic training, and despite his rather eclectic career, it wasn't a skill John had picked up himself yet either.

Eventually he probably wouldn't have much of a choice, but he really hoped that the rescue party arrived long before it got to that point. John didn't think he would ever live it down if his team finally came back, only to find that his clothes had long ago disintegrated, and that he was wearing nothing but a leaf over his –

John shook his head, forcing the image from his mind. It was getting harder to think of his team without becoming angry, so he tried not to think about them at all. Having Jett as company was definitely helping, but there was only so much conversation he could manage with an animal that couldn't talk back.

Pulling himself back up with a heavy sigh, John dragged his heavy pack back onto his shoulders and set off again.

In the end, it was a good job that he hadn't had far left to go. The rest of the journey had only taken ten minutes, but by the time John arrived back at the clearing, his knee was on fire, his headache had returned with a vengeance, and he was walking with a heavy limp. When he finally caught sight of the jumper, and the rest it promised, John, sweat-soaked and exhausted, went almost boneless with relief.

Then he heard a growl, followed by a warning bark, and John felt his stomach drop. He turned slowly to his right, fighting the instincts that were telling him to fight or run for his life; mainly because he knew he wouldn't stand a chance no matter which course of action he took...

"Dammit," John cursed softly.

Jett was awake. And he didn't look happy.

* * *

 **A/N –** Cliff-hanger…Sorry, but it had to be done! I hope you liked this chapter – if you did (or didn't) I'd love to hear from you, particularly with your thoughts on John's new friend. Does everyone like Jett's name? I really struggled to come up with a good one, particularly since I had to put myself in the mind of John Sheppard to do it. Thanks for all the people who offered brilliant suggestions for the name after the last chapter. I really did take them on board, but ultimately 'Jett' just seemed to fit better. I hope you agree! Anyway, until next time (when I promise the cliff-hanger will be resolved), thanks for reading!


	6. Part Six

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Well, hello one and all! Sorry for taking so long yet again – especially after the last chapter's admittedly mean cliff-hanger – but here I am _finally_ with a new instalment. I had quite a bit of fun writing this one, and hopefully that will come across when you read it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Six**

* * *

John froze.

In fact, as he stared at Jett's wide, feverish eyes and his sharp, deadly teeth, John didn't even dare breathe. In that moment – even with his heart beating wildly in his chest, and adrenaline flooding his system - John knew that he had to stay completely still; that if he did anything to spook the dog, anything at all, then the beast would attack, no question.

And even though he had just spent the majority of the last day saving the animal's life, John wasn't deluded enough to think he would survive the encounter.

Even so - and with his eyes never leaving the dog - John slowly took hold of the knife he'd attached to his leg, and carefully pulled it free. The cold handle was a comfort, and he gripped it with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Even with the odds stacked against him, he wasn't going down without a fight. If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that he didn't want to feel that powerless ever again.

And if that meant he had to be ruthless instead, then so be it.

The good news, however, was that Jett seemed in no hurry to attack, so without moving an inch, John took a shallow breath and released it slowly. He was exhausted, battered and bruised, and his muscles were taut, almost shaking with the effort of keeping still, but John stubbornly powered through any lingering pain. He'd been in life and death situations before – more times that he cared to count - but this was an old-fashioned standoff; only John had nothing but a knife to defend himself with, and his opponent could probably kill him with one swipe of his giant paws.

John swallowed, and tried to stay calm. This was not good…

Jett looked every inch the wild animal he was, and John knew he would already be dead had the animal been fighting fit. As it was, Jett looked awful, limping forward slightly, and still clearly favouring his right side. The soldier in John was already thinking up ways to take advantage of that weakness, but the tired man in him - the man who had been broken by the events of the last few days – couldn't help but think of ways he might be able to help the poor creature instead.

 _Please don't leave me alone…_

John swallowed, and gripped the knife so hard that his knuckles turned white. He still didn't make his move though, and with the seconds ticking by - and as they continued to stare at each other - he finally came to a decision, and it was a decision he hoped he'd at least live to regret it.

He lowered his knife.

With his heart thudding wildly in his chest, John ignored his baser instincts – the ones telling him go on the offensive – and instead frantically wracked his brain for any knowledge that might actually help him survive the encounter without outright killing the dog/wolf/bear hybrid currently staring him down.

Because even though he would if he had to, John didn't _want_ to kill Jett, not if he could help it. It was ridiculous and stupid and sad, but Jett was the only living thing he'd had any sort of interaction with in the last few days, and he really didn't want to have to kill him. John knew he only had himself to blame for putting himself in this position, but even as he gripped the knife even more tightly, he hesitated once more, drawing a shallow breath as he tried to think of an alternative. Jett paused too, and John decided in that moment that it was worth trying to find a solution to the temporary impasse they'd reached.

The diplomatic route. Which definitely _wasn't_ his strong suit. He sighed; at least Teyla would be proud…

"Okay, easy boy," John began, careful to keep his voice calm, monotonous, unthreatening. He was also careful not to move, but that was more down to instinct than anything else. He knew what to do if faced with a bear on Earth, but a rabid, feverish, giant alien dog/bear/wolf crossbreed like Jett? He didn't have a clue…

As if sensing John's hesitation, Jett barked in warning and stepped forward a touch, and John immediately tightened his grip on the knife. Then he held up his hands – albeit still with one hand holding his knife - in the universal sign of surrender, even though he was almost certain that the beast in front of him couldn't comprehend it. Still, he had to try something. It couldn't end like this…

"Hey, buddy," John continued, keeping his voice so soft that it was almost a whisper. He had no idea what to say, but he was hoping that just saying something, _anything,_ would help. "Look, I don't know if you remember me, but I'm the guy who brought you back here. You weren't in very good shape, and I know you're still hurting, but I'm not the bad guy here."

As the words drifted over to the dog, Jett stilled, and quirked his head to the right. John swallowed and tried not to show his relief, although it was a close run thing. The animal was listening though, and that had to be a good thing. John had talked to Jett a lot over the last day or so, and he hoped it hadn't all been for nothing. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would survive this after all…

"My name's John, remember?" John continued quietly, still careful not to move in case Jett saw that as a threat. He could feel exhaustion creeping up on him, but he forced himself to keep going. "I'm not from around here, so you might not have seen me before. I'm just visiting for a bit. When I found you, you were pretty out of it, but I fixed you up."

The beast didn't move, merely cocking his head to one side, but John definitely took that as a good sign this time. Jett's piercing blue eyes met John's, and he had the distinct feeling that he was being judged. John squared his shoulders and stared right on back, determined to pass the test.

"Your name's Jett," he continued softly, not really sure why he was still talking. It was part desperation, and part hope, and he didn't know which one was more pathetic. Even so, he persevered for lack of a better plan. "I know that's probably not your real name, but since we've got a bit of a language barrier thing going on, it'll have to do for now. If you've got another name, I'd be happy to call you that instead?"

John hadn't really expected an answer from the animal, so when he didn't get one, he wasn't all that surprised. Instead, Jett growled – again, not such a surprise – but at least it seemed less threatening now. John felt the relief rush through him, mingling with the aftereffects of the adrenaline that had shot through his system only moments before. Maybe Jett recognised him as the man who'd saved his life…

"Are you hungry, boy?" John asked quietly, his eyes fixed to the watchful, and almost considering, gaze of the animal. "I haven't got much food, but…well, it's not like I've got anyone else to share it with."

John swallowed back the bitterness that rose at that statement, and shrugged his hurt away. It was done. Over. He had to move on or he would never survive, even if that meant forgetting his friends and his life on Atlantis altogether.

Careful to move slowly, John lowered his hands and started to shrug his backpack off his shoulders. Jett growled in warning at the movement, but didn't make any move forward, and John took that as another good sign.

Heaving his backpack onto the ground in front of him, John started to slowly search around inside until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out the prize – a MRE made up of some sort of questionable meat product– and tore it open. The smell almost made him gag, but he held back his nausea as best he could.

He could see Jett tense slightly, clearly sensing the new smell as well. The animal didn't pounce though, which told John that Jett was definitely still recovering from the quite severe blood loss he'd suffered the day before.

"Here," John said, placing the food on the ground and nudging it forward. "It's all yours."

The animal just tilted its head, almost as if he was considering the idea. John decided to wait it out. In his experience, it wouldn't take long…

Then, moving slowly but surely, the beast lumbered closer to John, limping quite a bit and _definitely_ favouring his right side. John held his breath, but released it when the animal stopped short of touching him. Instead, Jett sniffed at the food John was offering as if trying to determine if it was indeed edible. Since it was cold meat – albeit pre-cooked – John didn't think that Jett would have a problem with it.

John was proved right when the beast took a large chunk of the meat concoction in his mouth in one bite, almost swallowing the entire pack – plastic wrapping and all - down whole. Strangely though, he left at least half of the meat in the packet.

"Have it all," John said hoarsely, gesturing towards the food. Maybe once he'd filled his stomach, Jett would see John less like prey to be captured and eaten. Then John could eat something too; all of a sudden, he was tired and hungry and fed up of just…surviving.

Jett, however, had other ideas.

"Seriously, I've got more," John said, when the big dog didn't move. "Take it all."

This time the beast moved slowly moved towards the food. Then, as if taking great pains to be gentle, Jett nudged the food with its large nose. It took a few seconds for John to realise that the dog was pushing the food back towards him.

"You're not listening to me," John said, trying to ignore how ridiculous it was that he was having a one-sided argument with an animal that could quite easily tear him in two. "I can easily get more. Just eat the damn meat."

The beast ignored him, and continued pushing the packet until it bumped against John's feet. The meat looked even less appetising than it had before, but John couldn't ignore the burning pang of hunger gripping at his stomach. Even covered in mud and all manner of alien bugs, John found that he wanted to eat it.

"Fine," he said finally, when it became clear that the animal wasn't going to let up until he'd eaten the food. "I guess we can share."

Moving slowly, careful to show the animal that he meant it no harm, John reached down and picked up a slightly muddy piece of meat, wiping it slightly to get rid of the slobber left behind by the animal. Watching carefully, in case the beast decided that he wanted to eat him after all, John lifted the meat, and popped it in his mouth. The animal, who it seemed was watching him carefully, seemed to nod slightly in what John could only assume was encouragement. John tried to ignore how completely weird that was, and instead ate another bite of the meat with a little more gusto.

He felt shame flush through him, but it was pushed back by the hunger gripping his stomach. And the truth was, he'd eaten worse, and if this kept him alive just that little bit longer then it was probably worth it.

Satisfied that John was finally doing as he was told, Jett limped forward and took another bite himself, and it didn't take long before man and beast had finished the small meal between them. Jett still didn't seem comfortable being so close to John, but it felt as if the dog had at least stopped thinking of him as a threat.

Which was good, John thought tiredly, because he was exhausted, and all he wanted to do now was go to sleep in the jumper, where he was at least somewhat protected by the elements.

Still moving slowly in case he spooked Jett into attacking, John rubbed at his neck, and then turned to the jumper, taking his eyes off the dog for only the briefest of moments.

Then, John took one step forward.

Which, as it turned out, was a huge mistake.

Before John could even comprehend what was happening, Jett tore forward, leaping across the small gap between them as if it was nothing.

As he turned his head, John saw Jett pounce, heard the loud, guttural growl, even felt the impact hit him square in his already aching back.

Then his head hit the ground, hard and unforgiving, and he knew nothing more.

* * *

Rodney's chest heaved with exertion as he pounded after his two team-mates.

God, he hated PX6-662 with a passion he usually only reserved for the soft sciences. The ground was hard, the air hot, and the pace unforgiving. Honestly, if Sheppard wasn't MIA, there was no way in hell they would have been able to drag him back to this god-forsaken planet…

"Can you please slow down a bit!" snapped Rodney finally, gasping as he tried to catch his breath, and stumbling slightly on the uneven ground. He knew that they didn't have time to waste – that Sheppard _needed_ them - but the pace Ronon and Teyla were setting was getting ridiculous…

"Don't be so dramatic, McKay," Ronon retorted, not even taking the time to turn around. Instead, the big man marched on, and Rodney had no choice but to try and follow on.

And he did try, he really did, but it didn't take long for him to crash.

"Are you...trying to…kill me?" he gasped, clutching at his chest. Rodney stumbled again. Black spots were dancing over his eyes, and he felt very warm all of a sudden…

"Ronon!" Teyla exclaimed, and Rodney felt her grab at his arm. "We must stop for a moment."

The next few seconds were a bit of blur for Rodney. In fact, he had a feeling he'd blacked out at some point, because the next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor with his head between his knees.

"McKay?" Ronon asked. Rodney lifted his head, and squinted in the bright light at his two companions. The Satedan was standing on his heels, clearly chomping at the bit to get moving again. Teyla, on the other hand, seemed very worried.

"Rodney, how are you feeling?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"M'okay," Rodney muttered. Usually he was the first to complain, but he still felt a little lightheaded, and he really didn't want to waste his limited reserves of energy explaining all the ways he was probably going to die. Besides, Sheppard was still missing. His own condition could wait until they'd found the Colonel, and after they were all safe and sound back on Atlantis.

"Here, drink," Teyla said softly, pushing one of their water canteens into his shaking hands. Rodney obediently took a large drink. It was only then he realised how thirsty he was. And how hungry…

Rodney paused. Oh…

"You have not been eating as you should, Rodney," Teyla said knowingly, her eyes crinkling in concern.

Rodney ignored the fact that it was definitely his own fault this time, and instead scowled. "Haven't exactly had chance," he said, nodding to Ronon.

A flash of guilt crossed Ronon's face, but it was gone in a second.

"We can't afford to waste time," Ronon argued. "We have to find Sheppard."

"I'm hypoglycaemic, you idiot," Rodney retorted irritably. It felt good to be mad at the Satedan. Better than being mad at himself. "I can't exactly help you find Sheppard if I'm dead."

Without waiting for a response, Rodney pulled out an energy bar, tore it open, and then took a large bite, washing it down with a little more water.

"You should have said something then," Ronon retorted finally. Rodney couldn't really argue with that, so he settled for a scowl.

"I didn't think," Rodney replied snarkily, swallowing another bite. "Usually Sheppard…"

He trailed off at the thought of their missing team leader, but it was obvious that both his companions knew what he was thinking. The truth was, the Colonel would've noticed something was wrong long before Rodney had, and he would have made him sit down and eat something well before his condition went past the point of no return…

"We all miss the John, Rodney," Teyla said softly, resting her hand comfortably on his shoulder.

"We need to find him," Ronon said quietly, although some of the manic urgency had left him. He looked a little lost in fact, which scared Rodney more than anything else could have. "He could be hurt. I don't remember what we did to him, but I think…I think I might have hit him."

"I think I did too," Teyla admitted, shame crossing her face. "I cannot be certain, but…"

"We need to find him then," Rodney interrupted, pulling himself off the ground. He still felt dizzy, but overall he felt much better now that he had a little food and water in him.

"McKay…"

"But," Rodney interrupted again. "Maybe we could go a bit slower this time? We're not far from the settlement now, and if we keep going at this rate, it's probably going to kill me."

"Right," Ronon replied with a smirk.

"Which I'm sure you wouldn't mind too much," Rodney replied with an annoyed scowl. "But remember, Sheppard will kill us all if we die trying to save his ass."

"He does not value his life as much as we do," Teyla replied sadly.

"Good job we don't listen to him then, isn't it?" Ronon replied, he gave Rodney a less-than-gentle push forward. "Come on then, let's go."

* * *

It took them another hour to reach the settlement, and by the time they finally arrived at the small town where they'd started trade negotiations with the local priest – the last time any of them had any coherent memories of seeing the Colonel alive – they were all irritable and fed-up.

Rodney particularly was exhausted, and was not shy in letting everyone know it. Thankfully, Teyla and Ronon just ignored him and allowed him to let of steam in the only way he knew how. They knew each other well; they were a strange kind of family, but family nonetheless. That's what made it hurt so much when he thought about what they'd done to Sheppard. Being drugged was no excuse.

" _Please don't do this…"_

"Rodney," Teyla prompted gently, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Do you wish to wait here while we meet with the Priest? You still appear to be a little unwell."

"I'm fine," Rodney insisted with a firm shake of his head. "Anyway, I don't trust these people. I don't think it would be a good idea to get separated."

"I'm with McKay," Ronon agreed. "We stick together."

"Okay," Teyla agreed with a small smile. "But please, allow me to do the talking. It is not that I do not trust you both, but…"

"But we're not the most diplomatic people," Rodney replied with a shrug.

Ronon merely shrugged. "We get it. But when you don't get anything from them, it's my turn."

"Ronon…" Teyla began, her voice full of uncertainty and warning.

"We're bringing Sheppard home," Ronon said. "By any means necessary."

McKay shivered at the cold look in the bigger man's eyes. Rodney had no doubt that Ronon would burn the village down if it meant getting Sheppard back in one piece.

The odd thing was, even though he'd always been opposed to that sort of tactic, Rodney almost found himself nodding along to Ronon's words.

Because Sheppard was important. He was part of their family, and they couldn't leave without him.

"By any means necessary," Rodney repeated quietly.

He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he was a little scared to admit, even if only to himself, that he was fully prepared to act if it did.

"Welcome," chimed the priest as they were shown into an elegant chamber with plenty of comfortable looking chairs, and Rodney already had make an effort to school his face to hide any lingering anger he felt. Teyla was right; he and Ronon were terrible at this.

"Thank you for allowing us to return," Teyla replied with a short bow.

"I must say," the priest began, gesturing for them to sit. "I was expecting you to arrive much sooner. What was the cause of your delay?"

"Delay?" Rodney asked, closing his mouth when Teyla shot him a warning look.

"Excuse my friend," Teyla said. "He is just worried for our leader."

"Ah, Colonel Sheppard," the priest replied, a small smile on his face. It infuriated Rodney as much as it scared him. It was clear; the priest had had something to do with Sheppard's disappearance.

"You do not seem to be surprised that he is not with us," Teyla noted.

"I am not," the Priest said, clearly taken aback by the question.

"Could we ask why?" Teyla replied. "We…have had difficulty remembering."

"Ah, that is a common side-effect of the Flae root," the priest nodded. "Your memories will return in time."

"Until then, maybe you could explain a few things for us," Rodney interjected. Teyla shot him another warning look, but thankfully the priest didn't seem to mind.

"Of course, I am always happy to assist the worthy," The Priest began, almost shaking with excitement.

"The worthy?" Teyla asked.

"Why, you, Ronon and Dr McKay, of course," the priest replied with a wide smile.

"And Colonel Sheppard?"

"His mind resisted the effects of the root," The Priest said, expression darkening. "Our Goddess' teachings are clear. He was _not_ worthy."

"His damn gene, probably," Rodney muttered.

"What does the Goddess say should happen to those who aren't worthy?" Ronon asked with a grunt, clearly holding himself back from violence.

"They are taken to the land of no-return, of course," the Priest replied cheerfully.

"By us?" Rodney asked.

"You offered to complete the task," The Priest replied with a frown. "That is not unusual when the unworthy are discovered."

"But if it's the planet of 'no-return'," Rodney began. "How were _we_ supposed to return after 'disposing' of Sheppard?"

"You were not," the Priest replied simply. "Those who go with the unworthy are expected to sacrifice themselves for the Goddess. They are the most worthy of all."

"And yet, here we are," Rodney muttered.

The priest frowned. "You assured me that you would not need to sacrifice yourselves, that you would find a way to ensure that the dialling stone would work." His frown deepened. "I did not truly believe you until now."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Rodney muttered irritably.

"Rodney…" warned Teyla.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me!" the priest said, moving to reassure them. "I am pleased. It is truly a gift from the Goddess."

This time, Rodney couldn't hide his scowl. Thankfully the priest didn't seem to notice.

"Although you were supposed to return here after leaving your leader to his fate," the priest asked with a frown. "Why did you not?"

"We each recall experiencing a very distinct desire to return home," Teyla told him. "For us, that is our own city. Not here."

"That is not the way things were supposed to be," muttered the Priest.

"Well it's the way things are," Ronan said bluntly.

"And a good job, too," Rodney added. "If we hadn't returned home, your brain-washing chemicals may not have worn off until it was already too late."

The priest seemed unperturbed by Rodney's comment.

"Ah, but it _is_ already too late," replied the Priest with a smile; the kind of smile that sent shivers down Rodney's spine. "Your leader is lost to you."

"Not if you tell us where we took him," Teyla replied.

The Priest's eyes widened. "It is forbidden. I cannot – "

Ronon stood up so suddenly that it made Rodney jump. The Satedan clenched his fists. "Tell us where you sent him!"

Fear crossed the Priest's face with alarming speed, but after a moment's pause, it was replaced with a sudden steely resolve. Rodney felt his heart drop.

"I will not," the Priest replied, crossing his arms.

"I wasn't asking," Ronon said, pulling the Priest up from his chair by his shirt. The Priest, overcome by his new resolve, didn't even seem spooked by the implied threat, a fact that was confirmed only a moment later when he spoke.

"You can kill me, you can kill our children," the Priest said softly and without wavering. He gestured around himself. "You can even burn our villages to the ground, but we will not tell you the gate address of the planet where your friend now resides. He is lost to you, guarded by the hounds of hell. You will never see him again."

Ronon paused, chest heaving in barely repressed anger, then he glanced towards Rodney and Teyla.

"Let him go, Ronon," Teyla told him, although the fire in her eyes spoke of her own anger. "I believe he is telling the truth. He will not tell us, not if we use violence against him."

"Sheppard is counting on us," Ronon growled, shaking the Priest slightly.

"He would not want this," Teyla said, nodding towards Ronon's hands, which still held the Priest's shirt in an iron grip. "We will find him, but we cannot lose ourselves in the process."

At her words, Ronon threw the man back into his seat, fists clenched so tightly that Rodney was honestly surprised he hadn't hit the wall with them.

"Fine," he grunted. "Then let's go."

Teyla nodded to him, then turned to face the Priest. "Our people will return, and when they do, I hope you have reconsidered your position. We will not harm you, but we are not the only people out there who care for John Sheppard. I fear for you. Truthfully, I even pity you for what will come."

And with that, she turned and left, leaving Rodney gaping after her. He pulled himself together, but not before Ronon had followed her out too.

"What she said," Rodney mumbled, before he left too.

It wasn't the greatest thing he'd ever said, but truthfully, he had more important things to think about.

Like finding the Colonel on whatever god-forsaken hell-hole they'd abandoned him on - a task that, unfortunately, had just got a whole lot harder.

* * *

With the wind buffeting loudly in his ears, John Sheppard slowly came to.

As always, the first thing he noticed was the pain. It hit him on his forehead first, and ran all the way down his back, stabbing through his skin and blinding him to any other sensations. He groaned and tried to move, but quickly gave up when his head swam dangerously and the dizziness made him want to puke.

God, what the hell had happened this time?

As he lay there, unmoving and in pain, it took him longer than he would have liked to admit to actually come up with the answer to that question. He remembered rescuing Jett, and then stitching him up. He also remembered going to search for water.

John strained his battered mind. Had he found water? He vaguely remembered filling up one of his canteens from a small stream, but he didn't remember actually making it back to the jumper with his supplies…

Oh.

The memories were trickling through, slowly but surely, but then he felt a nudge on his side, and it pushed all other thoughts to the back of his mind. He nearly jumped a mile, but the sudden movement only made him want to puke again, so he couldn't do much in the way of defence.

Of course, being who he was, he tried anyway.

John pulled himself up until he was sitting up rather than lying down, and raised his fists out in front of himself. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he didn't think he'd been mauled by the animal just yet, which was a little surprising.

In fact, now that he thought about it with a slightly clearer head, it was…wrong.

He should be dead.

John swallowed and lifted his head to meet the sharp blue eyes of the dog he had rescued. Jett looked…contrite, which was a strange emotion for a dog to have, even more so an alien one. John lifted his hand and rubbed at his face. Maybe he'd hit his head harder than he'd first thought…

In response, Jett simply leaned forward again and nudged John's leg, almost as if he was making sure the man was alive. God, this was getting weirder and weirder by the second…

"Are you my friend now?" John asked. Jett lifted his head, but made no sign that he'd understood John's question. That was okay, John thought. A giant dog he could handle; a giant dog that could understand English…that was a little more difficult for him to accept.

"So, how's it going?" John began. He didn't wait for a response, obviously, but he did carefully and slowly place one hand on the animal's back. Then, when the dog didn't shrug it off, John began to stroke Jett across the back in an attempt to put the animal at ease. Thankfully it seemed to work, and Jett lay his massive head on John's lap, clearly trying to give him better access.

John laughed in spite of how weird this was. "That's how it's going to be then, is it?"

Jett snorted, and rubbed his ear against John's leg. The big mountain of muscle had turned into a puppy, and John was all the happier for it.

"Okay, I guess that's fine with me, buddy," John continued. John's head ached like a son-of-a-bitch, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to the jumper and lie down for the next eight hours, but he had a strong feeling that he wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.

Strangely though, he was okay with that. For now, at least. When his leg went dead from Jett's weight, he'd probably have a different view on it…

"You and me," John continued in a low murmur. "We've got to look out for each other, okay? I...need you to help me, because there's no way in hell I can do this alone."

 _Please don't leave me..._

Jett just snorted, and rolled over so John could rub the other side of his head. John smiled, shook his head once, and then - after deciding to push away his dark thoughts as best he could - happily obliged.

* * *

 **A/N -** So, this was by far the longest chapter yet, so I hope you liked it? There was plenty going on in this one, so I hope it didn't feel rushed at any point. I also hope everyone is still in character, and that they "sound" right. I'm very conscious of the fact that I'm not from the US or Canada (I'm British), and I really want to do a good job with these characters, so I'm counting on all of you to help - if any of them feel 'off', please let me know! For now though, thanks for reading, and if you can spare a minute or two, please let me know what you think of the story so far!


	7. Part Seven

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** So again, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Life has been busy and writer's block has been unforgiving. Anyway, before you read on, I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited or followed this story so far – you're making this story an absolute joy to write! Keep the support coming!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Seven**

* * *

Against a backdrop of grey, rainy days and dark, cold nights, John and Jett slowly recovered.

Even at his most optimistic, John knew that it was going to take time – more so in Jett's case due to the severity of his injuries – but fortunately, time was the one thing they both had in abundance. It wasn't going to be easy either, but John had faith that his headaches would eventually fade away into mere background noise, and that Jett would be able to stand on his own four feet with only the slightest of limps. Life would carry on.

They would survive.

Of course, life on the planet had already become a constant battle for that survival, but then, John had always been a pretty damn good fighter. Having Jett by his side helped, even though he was more like an overgrown puppy than a full-grown dog; a puppy, for that matter, who still didn't quite know his own strength. In only a few days, John had already lost count of the amount of times Jett had knocked him down in an attempt to play with him. John had received a few more bruises to add to his already extensive collection, but at least the big dog hadn't done any permanent damage yet.

And at least he wasn't alone.

 _Please don't leave me…_

John shook his head forcefully. Then, in a somewhat futile attempt to distract himself from his dark thoughts, he gave Jett's head a gentle rub. In response, Jett nuzzled playfully into John's body, his weight almost knocking John over again.

"Easy, pal," John murmured, giving him a gentle nudge backwards. They were sat on the edge of the jumper ramp watching the sun set in the sky, and John really didn't want to end up lying face first in the grass. "Like we talked about, okay? I'm not as strong as you, so you need to go easy on me."

Like every other time John had tried to speak to him, Jett didn't show any sign that he understood the words, but it didn't bother John. It was just nice to have someone to talk to – pathetic, obviously, but still nice.

 _Please don't do this…_

John shook his head again, and Jett, perhaps sensing his new friend's growing melancholy, snuggled closer once more. John braced his arms against the ramp floor and managed to hold the weight this time, although he could already feel the strain in his muscles. Still, he appreciated the dog's effort. It was more than anyone else was doing right now…

John let out a loud, guttural sigh, and tried to hold back his growing bitterness. The trouble was, the longer he was stuck on this crappy planet, the more of a futile effort it was becoming. He _wanted_ to believe that his team were coming for him, he _wanted_ to believe that they cared, but…

It was hard. Almost impossible, really. Because he was still waiting.

And his friends, his family, still hadn't come back for him.

It was starting to bring back so many of the insecurities that he thought he'd buried years ago, so he spent most of his time trying to forget instead. Which was much easier said than done…

Jett let out a soft growl and burrowed into John's side, and John responded by rubbing the beast's side, careful to avoid the makeshift stitches running across his back. Jett was tired and John didn't blame him. They'd had a long day, full of walking and hunting and not much resting.

John had been making an effort to fill his days with anything and everything he could think of that would help him and Jett survive just that little bit longer. He'd explored, hunted, then explored some more. He'd even spent time improving their' 'living quarters' by retro fitting one of the spare emergency blankets he'd found over the entrance to the jumper in order to give them at least some semblance of protection against the almost continuous deluge of heavy rain and biting cold winds.

Now on the colder nights, when the weather outside raged against the harsh land, he and Jett would lie next to each other on the cold floor of the jumper, sharing body heat as best they could while they listened to the relentless rain battering the roof above them. Jett would invariably fall into a relatively peaceful slumber not long after – sometimes with his head on John's chest - but John found it much harder to get to sleep than his canine companion, and most nights he simply lay there wide awake, listening to Jett snore on his chest, and pretending that everything was going to be okay.

 _Please don't do this…_

"Everything's going to be okay," he muttered quietly.

It was a lie that was becoming harder and harder to believe.

* * *

"Oh come on, you stupid piece of useless ancient crap!" Rodney growled as he slammed the malfunctioning life-signs detector down onto the workbench with a little more force than was strictly necessary. In fact he was all but ready to throw the device straight out of the window and into the sea, but of course one of Sheppard's marines had done enough damage to it already, the egotistically, immature, irresponsible -

"Rodney!" Carson exclaimed loudly as he walked into the office. Rodney bit back as sigh and finally placed the life-signs detector down on the workbench. Rodney immediately tried to school his face into nonchalance, but it clearly did little to reassure the doctor. Carson frowned.

"Rodney," the doctor began, arms folded like a school teacher reprimanding a naughty child. "What on Earth are you doing?"

"Trying to fix this," Rodney replied shortly, pointing to the broken device. It was infuriating that he couldn't fix something so simple, but the truth was he just couldn't concentrate anymore. His head was aching, his stomach growling, and he was starting to see little red dots dancing around his vision. In retrospect, the fact that he hadn't slept in over 48 hours probably wasn't helping...

"Fix it?" Carson replied. "Son, you look like you're ready to punch the bloody thing."

"Well excuse me for being a bit frustrated," Rodney retorted sarcastically, lifting up the detector and holding it out to Carson. "Here, I'm sure you could do _so_ much better."

Carson actually did take the detector to Rodney's surprise, but instead of trying to fix it, Carson simply put it down on the workbench behind him – well out of Rodney's immediate reach - and sat down on the stool next to Rodney. Rodney sighed; he should've known…

"Don't say it, Carson," Rodney began, shaking his head. "I know what you're thinking, and –"

"Shut up, Rodney," Carson interrupted. "We've all let this go on too long already. I've had enough."

Two weeks had passed since they'd abandoned the Colonel, two long weeks since they'd betrayed their friend, and Rodney was starting to feel the strain. They'd tried everything short of declaring all-out war on PX6-662, but it had got them no closer to finding Sheppard. They hadn't stopped searching, but every time they came back from a planet without him, it felt a little bit worse, and it was getting to the point where Rodney felt as if the weight of the guilt was going to drown him.

His only consolation was that Ronon and Teyla felt exactly the same way.

"You've been working yourself into the ground," Beckett began, his voice much gentler than it normally was. "You haven't been eating, you haven't been sleeping. Rodney, you need to – "

"What I _need_ is to find Sheppard," he interrupted, anger in his voice. "We can't just forget about him…"

"No one's asking you to, lad," Carson soothed. "But the Colonel would be the first one to call you an idiot for not taking care of yourself as well."

Guilt flashed through Rodney at the Scot's words, but he pushed it away through sheer force of will. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't...

"Yeah, well he's not here now, is he?" Rodney retorted angrily. "He can't call me an idiot because we beat him up, tied him to a tree, and left him on some god-forsaken planet to die."

He, Teyla and Ronon had spent a long time going through everything they could remember about what had happened, and between the three of them, enough of their memories had returned now for them to know exactly what they'd done to the Colonel. In fact, the only thing that they _couldn't_ remember was Sheppard's location, which just so happened to be the one thing they cared about the most.

Rodney dropped his gaze. "It's probably already too late – "

"Rodney!" Carson exclaimed. "You can't think like that. We'll find the Colonel, but you need to calm down and think rationally."

"Tried that," Rodney muttered. "Didn't work."

Rodney ran a hand over his face. He was too tried to argue with Carson but too wired to sleep. He was starting to think that those seven cups of coffee were a mistake…

"So you decided to beat up a life-signs detector instead?"

"Not one of my finest moments, I'll admit," Rodney replied quietly. "But he's relying on me - you all are - and I can't…I just can't…"

"You're not alone in this, Rodney," Carson replied, standing up. "Come on. Woolsey has called a meeting to go over everything we know so far."

"Again?"

Carson rolled his eyes. "Yes, again. No one's giving up, so you shouldn't either. Now come on. Get moving or we'll be late."

"Fine," Rodney replied, "But if someone so much as looks at me like I should have a genius solution to this mess, I swear I'll take a leaf out of Ronan's book and shoot them."

* * *

"So, Dr McKay, have you had any further thoughts since our last meeting?" Woolsey asked. "Any luck with coming up with a way for us to locate the Colonel?"

Rodney glared at Beckett, who squirmed nervously in his chair. "Rodney…"

The Doctor's eyes were practically screaming 'Don't kill the nice man', and Rodney had the sudden, irrational urge to laugh. As wired as he was, Rodney was sure it wouldn't take much more for him to snap, but he supposed that killing the expedition leader over something so trivial _would_ be a bit...unfortunate.

"Fine," Rodney replied. He turned to face Woolsey, who was sat at the head of the conference table. "No, I haven't. I've spent every waking moment scouring through the Ancient Database, but I haven't found anything so far to narrow down the search. Short of going to every single planet and scanning for Sheppard's sub-q transmitter, I don't know what else we can do."

"I've got a few ideas," Ronon added threateningly.

"I fear that no matter what we do, the people of PX6-662 will not disclose the Colonel's location," Teyla added, shooting him a warning luck. Ronon didn't even have the sense to seem contrite.

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't try," Ronon muttered.

"And we will," Woolsey said, shooting his a look. "Though perhaps not quite in the way I believe you are suggesting, Mr Dex."

"That will take too long," argued Rodney. "Sheppard will probably be old and grey by the time we actually find him. That's if he isn't already…"

"Rodney," warned Beckett.

"Sorry," he muttered in reply. Rodney couldn't help but think the worst though. He'd never been an optimistic person; that was Sheppard's department…

"We will find him again, of that I have no doubt," Teyla said quietly, her tone sure. Rodney wished he shared her confidence. "We must simply think of a better way than relying on the Priest to disclose his location."

"I did have one idea," Jennifer began quietly. She glanced over to Rodney with a look that immediately sent his nerves jangling. Oh, he wasn't going to like this…

"Go on," Woolsey gestured.

"It's a bit…out there," she began. She turned to Rodney, apologetic. "I don't think you'll like it…"

"It can't be worse than anything we've come up with," Rodney replied, irritated at himself for his own failure. "Come on. What's the big idea?"

"It's just...well..."

Rodney rolled is eyes. "Jennifer..."

"Hypnotism," she said, her gaze dropping.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Rodney couldn't help it.

He laughed. Loudly.

"Rodney…" Carson warned.

Rodney turned to Jennifer. "You mean you're _not_ joking?"

"No," she huffed. "It's a perfectly valid, medically-recognised form of – "

"It's the most voodoo of all the voodoo sciences," Rodney interrupted. "We may as well hold a séance and see if my dead great-great grandma Ida knows where Sheppard is."

"I will do it," Teyla said firmly.

"What?" Rodney began, completely taken aback. "Hold a séance?"

"No," Teyla replied patiently. "This…hypnotism. I am not sure what it is, but if it will help us find John, I am willing to try it."

"That's great, Teyla," Jennifer smiled.

"Seriously?" scoffed Rodney. "You don't even kn-"

"I'll do it too," interrupted Ronon.

"Oh, come on!" Rodney moaned.

Ronon glared at him. "Sheppard's been missing for two weeks and we still have no idea where he is. This is worth a try."

Rodney looked around the table in incredulity, but found no sympathy on any of his friend's faces. They were serious about this.

Rodney sighed. "Fine, if you want to waste your time, it's no skin off my nose. But if you think anyone's poking around in my brain, you can think again. You two might be stupid enough to volunteer, but _I_ actually know what hypnotism is, and there's no way in hell I'm going to do it." He shook his head for emphasis. "No way. No way at all…"

* * *

 **A/N –** So, how was it? I realise that this was a relatively short chapter, but I thought it ended in a good place, and the story has at least moved along a bit. I'm trying not to rush the plot, but I also don't want to drag it out either. Hopefully the balance is okay at the moment, but let me know if you think I can improve things! For now though, keep your reviews coming (I love them all) and thanks for reading!


	8. Part Eight

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Thank you all for your kind words after the last chapter. I'm really glad you still think I'm doing a good job with this story and with the SGA characters (and Jett). Hopefully you'll like this chapter just as much – enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Eight**

* * *

"Rodney, for the love of - will you please sit still!" Jennifer chastised as Rodney fidgeted for the fifth time in as many minutes. They were alone in his bedroom, sat cross-legged opposite each other on the cold, hard floor beside his bed, but even though he knew that no one else could see what they were doing, Rodney still couldn't help but feel incredibly uncomfortable and self-conscious about the whole thing. He fidgeted again, almost as if each jerky movement was against his will and therefore ultimately beyond his control, but Jennifer didn't seem to care either way. She glared at him, opening her mouth to speak...

"Look, can we just get this farce over with already?" Rodney asked, trying to hide his growing apprehension behind his usual veil of snark and sarcasm. Judging the flash of hurt that crossed Jennifer's face, he'd not only failed in that small task, but he'd also upset her, which certainly hadn't been his intention. Damn, he was no good at this.

"Not if you keep thinking of it as a farce," Jennifer muttered, face flushing slightly. "If you don't want to do this, you just have to say so…"

Rodney sighed to himself. Well aware that he was in the wrong this time, he held back the sudden urge to unload his own frustration onto her. She looked tired, worn-out, and Rodney knew that it was because she'd already spent the last couple of days trying to go through the whole process with Teyla and Ronon; so far, to no avail.

The fact that Rodney, of all people, was her last hope…well, he obviously wasn't doing much to reassure her that it was even worth the extra effort. Damn…

He decided that a swift tactical retreat was in order.

"Look, I'm sorry," Rodney replied quietly, not really sure if he meant it or not; although he supposed it didn't really matter. He was here. He still thought it was a stupid idea, but he was willing to try; sort of. That was the important thing.

Well, that, and finding Sheppard.

"So, how do you want to do this?" he asked her, shifting again in an effort to get comfortable. She didn't comment on his fidgeting this time. It was her own peace offering and he appreciated it. "What do I need to do?"

"First of all, you need to relax, Rodney," she replied softly, a small knowing smile on her face. Rodney rolled his eyes, but dutifully let his shoulders fall back slightly. It wasn't much, but it was about as relaxed as he ever got. It would have to do.

"Okay, now what?" he asked impatiently. He still felt wildly uncomfortable, but he tried to hide it. The truth was though, he had no idea why he was doing this. Had anyone else been watching, he was sure he _wouldn't_ be, but he trusted Jennifer. And if it led to an epiphany about Sheppard, then he supposed it would be worth the discomfort. Not that he would ever admit as much to Sheppard of course…

"Rodney…"

"Look, this is about as relaxed as I can be with my best friend missing," he replied, trying, and once again failing, to hide his irritability. "Take it or leave it."

"Okay," she replied, holding her hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "Okay, we'll try it."

"So, I'm relaxed," he continued, folding his arms and shifting his legs once again. "Now what?"

"Close your eyes," she replied, and he did. "Now, I want you to listen to my voice, and only my voice. Ignore everything else. The world outside doesn't matter, not right now. Just listen to my voice, okay?"

"Okay," Rodney nodded. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. This wasn't going to work, he knew that, but he supposed she did have a nice voice. Really…nice…

"Good," she praised softly. "Now, listen closely, allow my voice to drown everything else out. Hear the sound of the words going up and down. Okay, Rodney? Can you hear it? Up and down. Like a swing. Up and down. Up and down…"

For the next few minutes, Rodney allowed her words to flow over him, almost like a wave of calmness, and he found himself relaxing almost against his will. It _was_ strangely hypnotic…

"Up and down. Up…and down..."

Rodney could almost feel himself swinging along with her words. Up then down. Up then down.

Then, in an instant, he was gone. Down, down, until he knew no more.

* * *

"Dammit..."

Tired and achy, John pulled himself up off the floor of the jumper and stretched his muscles, trying to work a little life into his battered body.

Today marked the end of his third week in exile, and already life had fallen into a routine of sorts for the Colonel. His days - almost always wet and miserable - invariably began with Jett slobbering all over his face in an effort to wake him up. As today was no different in that respect, John wiped the side of his head until the offending drool was gone, then reached down to give Jett a morning belly rub. It wasn't an ideal, obviously, but he supposed there were worse ways to wake up. It definitely beat his alarm clock back on Atlantis...

John shook his head and then started on his new morning routine.

Once he was up, he and Jett would usually eat something for breakfast – usually some berries or nuts he'd scrounged the day before - and then he would spend the rest of the day either hunting with Jett, scavenging for more supplies, or trying to fix the jumper.

He'd gotten a lot better at the first two tasks, particularly with Jett's help, but the last task was proving to be somewhat of a frustration. He was no idiot, no matter how he presented himself to everyone, but he _was_ missing vital equipment, not to mention a plethora of spare parts, and more importantly – although he'd never admit as much to the man himself - McKay's brain.

John sighed as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his back, trying to prepare himself for another long day of monotonous survival. Fixing the jumper was at least giving him something to focus on, but he'd already given up on the gate and the DHD as lost causes. The damage from Rodney's explosion was just too great, so he knew that there was no way in hell he'd be able to fix either of them, even with McKay's brain. The jumper, however, had survived the explosion completely intact, so John was hopeful there was still life in there somewhere, even it seemed to be stubbornly hiding from him at the moment.

Although, in the end John supposed it didn't really matter either way. It kept him busy during the long, lonely days, and it helped him to keep his mind occupied, which in turn helped him to get through each day without going completely stir-crazy.

And as sad as it was to admit, 'not going crazy' was about the best he could hope for at the moment.

John stretched his back one more time, then pulled on his jacket. Time to go back out into the wild, unpredictable land he now called home.

He'd worry about going crazy another day.

* * *

For once, it wasn't raining.

"Come on, buddy," John cajoled as Jett dutifully followed his new master through the tightly packed forest.

When he'd left the jumper that morning, he'd discovered that it was a reasonably warm, dry day - the first one he'd experienced since landing on this planet - so John had decided that it would be a good opportunity for him and Jett to explore a little further afield. He didn't know where he was going or what he was going to find, but felt good to be doing something other than just surviving.

"Just a few more minutes then we'll take a break,' he continued, frowning slightly. Jett was still recovering from extensive and life-threatening injuries, so John had vowed to keep a close eye on the dog as he followed on behind him. He had tried to convince Jett to stay behind and wait for him at the jumper, but in the end, he hadn't had much choice. Jett had been very reluctant to allow John to go anywhere without him. John couldn't help but smile at the thought – it was like he'd adopted a puppy. A huge, furry, alien puppy.

"Just a little bit longer, pal," John continued quietly, hacking his way through a little more of the undergrowth. Jett panted behind him, but didn't seemed to be in any pain, so John focused back on their path. The trees and plants had begun to thin out a little bit, but it was still hard work, forcing him to use every ounce of energy he had on the task.

John revelled in it.

He'd always been an active person, even as a kid. In fact, he remembered spending pretty much his entire childhood outside; running, jumping, climbing, swimming. Anything, as long as he was _doing_ something. He'd hated sitting still, always worried that he'd miss out on something cool if he wasn't around to see it.

As he'd grown up, that feeling had transformed into a desire to fly. From about the age of 10, it had been all he'd wanted to do. His dad had disagreed strongly – so strongly that it had caused a rift to form between them that he _still_ hadn't come to terms with all these years later – but John hadn't let that stop him at the time. He'd signed up for the Air Force without his dad's permission and without using a cent of the old man's money, and he'd left home, vowing never to return.

He'd kept that promise too, right up until his father's funeral a couple of years ago.

Shaking his head slightly, John wiped the sweat off his face and decided to take a breather. He took out his canteen and drank deeply from it. Then he bent down and offered some water to Jett, who eagerly lapped it up. Whilst Jett drank, John allowed his thoughts to wander.

In a career spanning twenty years, John had been all over the world and had even explored a few _other_ worlds as well. In that time, he'd seen things he'd never dreamed of seeing, and he'd done things he wished to hell he hadn't. It had been tough, had ruined his marriage and ultimately it had even changed the way he thought about life itself, but he didn't regret joining up.

He'd been part of something so much bigger than himself. He'd channelled his active nature into his career until he'd finally arrived at a place where he could actually make a difference. Where he could matter.

Atlantis.

But now, he had nothing. The old man would be proud, John thought sarcastically as put his canteen away and set off again, immediately hacking his way through yet another thick section of undergrowth.

Three weeks alone would be tough on anyone, but for John, old securities had already started to rear their ugly heads, and it was getting harder and harder to push them away.

Deep down he knew his team would be looking for him, that they wouldn't give up on him, but…

Did they care? Did they actually _want_ to find him, or had they just been pretending to be his friends the whole time? John wasn't sure he knew anymore, and he hated himself for that. Hated himself for doubting his friends, and hated them for giving him something to doubt.

 _Please don't leave me…_

The truth was, his time so far on this planet – full of pain, cold nights, and loneliness - reminded him of the time he'd spent in Antarctica. He'd been abandoned then too, left to fend for himself in a harsh, unforgiving environment, only back then at least he'd had a roof over his head, sporadic human company, and a square meal three times a day. He'd also had the luxury of taking one of the helicopters out for a fly whenever he'd felt like it.

John sighed. He missed flying with an ache that sank deep into his soul. The fact that he actually had access to a jumper - just one that couldn't fly - only made the ache worse. John had tried everything he could think of to get the thing to light up, but it was useless. He couldn't feel anything, even when he reached out with his mind, and that told him that there was something going on that he didn't understand.

Something on the planet was stopping it working.

John shook his head and carried on marching forward, pausing every few minutes to hack at the vegetation. It wasn't like he would be able do anything about it. Even if by some miracle he could figure out what had killed the jumper, the odds were that he wouldn't be able do anything to fix it.

And if he couldn't even fix that, what the hell was the point in trying? Was it worth all the frustration and disappoint just to avoid going crazy with boredom?

Truthfully, John didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore.

But since he didn't have any better ideas, and since he had a big, overgrown puppy to feed and keep occupied, he kept walking, exploring, and searching, all in the hope that one day some he would find a better reason to keep going. A reason to keep fighting.

A reason to keep living.

* * *

"Tell me what you can see, Rodney," Jennifer asked quietly. She watched as Rodney took a slow breath, eyes still closed as he seemed to relive the events of three weeks ago. He was silent, but Jennifer knew better than to push him for an answer. He was normally so tightly wound that she was surprised she managed to get him under at all. Now only time would tell if was going to be worth the effort.

"I'm standing by the DHD," Rodney replied, his voice oddly flat. "We're waiting."

"Can you see Colonel Sheppard?"

"Ronon's holding him back," Rodney replied. "Sheppard doesn't look happy."

Jennifer wouldn't have expected him to, but she knew better than to say that out loud.

"Teyla is talking to the Priest," Rodney continued quietly.

"Are you still on PX6-662?"

"Yes," Rodney replied, eyes still closed. "But the Priest is dialling the gate now. We're getting ready to leave."

Jennifer felt her heartrate increase. "Can you see the gate address?"

"No," Rodney replied after moment's hesitation. "Me, Ronon and Teyla are trying to get Sheppard into the jumper. He isn't going without a fight."

Damn, Jennifer thought, although again she resisted verbalising it. Since Ronon and Teyla hadn't seen anything either, she'd been hoping that they would have more luck with Rodney. She felt her hope dwindle more and more with each passing second, but she persevered. They owed Colonel Sheppard that much at least…

"Okay, you're doing really well, Rodney," She praised quietly. "Keep going. What's happening now?"

"I'm getting into the pilot's chair," Rodney continued. "We're taking off."

"Are you going through the gate?"

"Yes…wait, not yet," Rodney replied. "We will be, but the Priest hasn't said we can go yet. There's some sort of blessing ceremony first."

Jennifer nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"He's saying something to his people. I think it's part of the ceremony, but I can't make out what he's saying. Something about…purgatory?"

Jennifer felt a fluttering in her chest. That was new. "That's good, Rodney. Now, focus on his words. Can you make anything else out? Anything that might tell you where you're going."

Rodney frowned. "I can't hear…Sheppard's shouting too loudly."

He seemed agitated, and Jennifer wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't hear what the Priest was saying, or if it was because of what he could hear instead.

"Okay, okay, it doesn't matter," Jennifer soothed, trying to calm him down. "What's happening now?"

"We're getting ready to go," Rodney replied. "Yes, the Priest has finally given us the go-ahead. Sheppard can't stop us now. Ronon and Teyla have got him under control. We're on our way."

"Can you see any of the symbols as you're flying past?" Jennifer asked, pressing a little harder. "Can you make out anything at all?"

"No," Rodney replied, grimacing slightly with the effort. "We're moving too fast. It's too late…we're through."

"Damn," Jennifer muttered dejectedly. She'd honestly believed that hypnotism would work, but so far it hadn't given them any useful information that they didn't already know…

"Wait," Rodney continued, stiffening. "Something's wrong."

"Is it the Colonel?"

"No," Rodney replied, shaking his head.

"Have you made it to the other planet yet?"

"Yes, but it's the jumper. It's lost all power. I'm trying to keep us in the air, but…I can't. Oh, god, we're going down. I…can't stop…"

He jerked, and Jennifer wondered if he was reliving the crash. Judging by their lack of serious injuries, it hadn't been a bad one, but he seemed so distressed that she had to physically stop herself from touching him. She didn't want to bring him out of the hypnotised state just yet, and even though she wasn't entirely sure what purpose it would serve for Rodney to experience this again, she decided to stick with her instincts.

"Rodney? Are you okay?" she asked.

"Ow," he replied, eyes still firmly closed. "That hurt."

"Are you injured?" she asked, the doctor in her unable to move on until she knew for sure.

"Not really," he replied, he lifted a hand to his forehead. "Just banged my head. Sheppard seems to be the worst off. I think he bounced around a bit when we hit the floor."

"Is he conscious?" Jennifer asked.

"Yes, he looks a bit groggy, but he's still trying to get away," Rodney continued, his voice devoid of all emotion. "I think he's about to…oh."

"What?"

"Ronon hit him," Rodney replied blankly. "We're climbing out of the jumper. It's dead, but I managed to get the hatch open. Ronon's pulling Sheppard out, but he's still struggling."

"He's a fighter," Jennifer commented before she could help it.

"He's should stop before…oh."

She was almost afraid to ask. "What?"

"Teyla hit him this time," Rodney replied, his face still devoid of all emotion. "Now they're dragging him to a nearby tree. Ronon's got some rope. I think they're going to tie him to it."

"And what are _you_ doing, Rodney?"

"I'm looking at the DHD," he replied, frowning. "I was going to dial it, but it looks dead as well. I need to get to work."

Jennifer gave him a couple of minutes to "work" before she decided she needed to push him along a little bit.

"Have you managed to fix it yet, Rodney?"

He scowled, eyes still closed. "That's what Ronon and Teyla keep asking. It's not as easy as it looks, you know."

"I know, Rodney," Jennifer replied. "But why don't we try fast-forwarding a little bit. You've fixed the DHD. What now?"

"I'm rigging a bomb," Rodney replied.

"A bomb?"

"On the DHD," he explained. "Can't let Sheppard get away."

"I thought he was tied up," Jennifer asked.

"He is," Rodney replied. "But he's sneaky. He'll probably get out of the ropes as soon as we've gone."

"And that would be bad?" Jennifer asked.

"I don't know," Rodney shrugged, face still blank, eyes still closed. "I can't….I think he has to say on the planet. That's what we were told to do. To take him and leave him there. It was his…purgatory. It was…important that he stayed."

"What had he done to deserve being left in purgatory?"

"I don't know," Rodney replied, and Jennifer could almost feel his stress levels rising.

"Okay, okay," she placated. "Let's move on. You've rigged the explosive around the DHD. What next?"

"I've set it on a timer, so now I'm calling to Ronon and Teyla. We need to go."

"And the Colonel?"

Rodney doesn't answer, too lost in the memory. "I'm dialling the gate. I can hear Sheppard…he's screaming at me, begging at us to let him go, but…I don't know why we don't."

"Rodney…"

"It's too late. The wormhole has engaged and I'm radioing ahead to Atlantis to let them know that we're on our way back. They have our IDC. We're free to go through. Sheppard is…"

"What?"

"He's still struggling. He doesn't want to be left behind," Rodney replied. "'We don't leave our people behind'; that's what he always says."

"He does," Jennifer nodded.

Rodney didn't seem to hear her. He was becoming more and more upset with each passing second.

"I don't want...I don't want to leave him," Rodney continued, babbling slightly. "But I'm walking towards the gate. Why are we leaving him? I don't – "

"Rodney calm down – "

"I...I don't want to leave him!" Rodney replied. "We don't leave our people behind…"

"Rodney," Jennifer tried, but she quickly decided that there was no sense in prolonging this anymore. She had a feeling that they'd already got as much from the whole experience as they were ever going to get. It was time to bring him back.

"Okay, Rodney," she began. "It's okay. When I tap your shoulder, you'll be back in the room. You'll remember what we talked about, but you'll feel separate from it. It will be like a memory again, and you'll be safely back on Atlantis. Okay?"

He didn't respond, but she did it anyway.

"Okay, Rodney," Jennifer said. Then she tapped his shoulder, just like she'd conditioned. "You're back."

He didn't respond. His eyes remained firmly closed and his face...it still had the blank look of hypnotism. Jennifer felt her heart stop. Something was wrong...

She tapped him again, "Rodney? Rodney, listen to me. You're back. It's over." She almost slapped his shoulder in desperation. "Dammit Rodney, you're back!"

His eyes flew open, and he was gasping as if he had just run a marathon. He blinked a few times, then squinted in her direction.

"Jennifer?"

"Rodney?" Jennifer asked, alarmed. She didn't know what to do. Neither Ronon nor Teyla had had this strong a reaction to the experience. Trust Rodney to be different...

"I…" he began, then he closed his eyes, almost as if he was trying to commit something to memory.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously. She'd recorded the session, so she wasn't worried about him forgetting anything he'd said, but there seemed to be more to his actions than that. She decided to trust her instincts and give him time.

"I...have an idea. I think," he replied, finally opening his eyes again. She saw fear, pain, guilt and…hope?

"An idea?" she asked, heart pounding. "For…"

"Sheppard," Rodney replied. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he hoped them, his fire was back. "I think I know how we can find Sheppard."

* * *

 **A/N –** So, what did you think? John's finding life on the planet tough (no surprise there), but things are finally looking up for the Atlantis crew, although you'll have to wait to find out what Rodney's big idea is, and whether it will actually be successful (although how often is Rodney wrong?). Anyway, keep up the wonderful support – I'd love to hear from you all. For now though, and until next time, thanks for reading!


	9. Part Nine

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again, my wonderful readers! Thank you for your continued support – your reviews continue to be delightful and reassuring, and I hope you keep them coming! Just a slight warning for you all: this chapter gets really angsty, particularly from John's point of view. Hopefully you won't mind that since you've stuck with the story so far, but if it's something that you think might bother you, you should probably stop reading now. Although having said that, I hope you don't. For those of you that love angst (including me!), enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Nine**

* * *

"Okay, so just run that by us one more time," Lorne requested, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Sheppard is on one of these three planets."

Rodney pointed to the three planets he'd outlined on his tablet, frowning at the lack of excitement on the faces of his friends. He sighed, then glanced around the conference table in disappointment. He'd spent the last week working his way through the entire database to narrow it down to only _three_ planets, was it honestly too much to ask for a simple 'Well done, Rodney'…?

"Yeah, I got that," Lorne replied with an eye-roll of his own. "But how do you know that? There must be hundreds of possibilities out there..."

"Thousands actually," Rodney retorted. "Not that anyone's counting."

"So how did you narrow it down?" Beckett asked.

"Yes, how _did_ you come to that rather miraculous conclusion, Dr McKay?" Woolsey asked.

"The crash," he said, looking around the conference table as if everyone should've known where he was going with that statement. They didn't. Rodney sighed again.

"McKay…" growled Ronon, clearly getting impatient. He looked ready to go into battle to fight all manner of demons at a moment's notice, although that was nothing new. In fact, 'battle-ready' had been the Satedan's default setting from the moment they'd woken up in the Infirmary without Sheppard.

"Fine," said Rodney, running a hand over his face. "Fact one: we left PX6-662 in a jumper and both the jumper and the gate were working fine. Fact two: we came through the wormhole okay, but as soon as we made it to the planet where we eventually dumped Sheppard, the jumper stopped working. And I don't mean that it stopped working at optimal levels, I mean it died as soon as we entered the atmosphere."

"So something on the planet killed the jumper," Ronon interrupted. "So what?"

"No," Rodney replied. "The _planet_ killed the jumper."

"Rodney…" Jennifer warned when Rodney looked at them smugly.

He held up his hands in mock-surrender. "The gate was working fine, and from what I could tell when I working on the DHD, _that_ was working fine as well. Or it should have been. There was no external damage at all; literally nothing to indicate why it wasn't working. It just wasn't. Same thing with the jumper. We weren't hit by anything, and the jumper was working fine before the planet. Ergo, something about the planet was causing Ancient technology to stop working."

"And you only thought of this now?" Lorne asked. "That seems obvious now you've said it."

"Yes, well, I didn't remember everything before," Rodney replied, annoyance crossing his face. "Only bits of pieces."

"So hypnotism was a good idea after all," Jennifer put forward, grinning slightly at Rodney's obvious discomfort.

"The important thing is, I remembered how I fixed the problem," Rodney replied. "Which means, I remembered what caused the problem in the first place." He crossed his arms. "The planet's electromagnetic field."

"And how exactly does this help us find the Colonel?" Beckett asked.

"C'mon, isn't it obvious?" Rodney replied, already going into full lecture mode. If Sheppard had been there, he would have told the scientist to cool it, but he wasn't, so he didn't. "The Ancients made a lot of mistakes, but even they wouldn't be stupid enough to put a gate on a planet that blocked ancient technology. So it must've worked at one point."

"I see. So you checked the Ancient database…" Woolsey began, clearly catching on.

"For any mentions of planets where gate travel was suddenly barred because of technical difficulties on the planet itself," Rodney finished with a nod. "Yes, I did."

"And there were three?"

Rodney scowled. "Yes. All three accounts seem almost identical, which makes me think that it's a similar problem affecting all three planets."

At that point, Lorne asked the question everyone was thinking.

"So how do we know which planet the Colonel is on?"

"That's the thing," Rodney said, running a hand through his hair. "We don't."

* * *

With practiced efficiency, John continued to gut the small, dead animal in front of him, careful not to waste any part of the rabbit-like creature. He was hungry – _starving –_ but he didn't rush the task. There was no point. The sooner he ate, the sooner the hunger would return again.

It was a cycle he couldn't break out of.

Life on the harsh planet was sparse, so hunting was difficult. His supplies had run out a couple of weeks ago – despite his stringent rationing- and when the hunting was particularly unsuccessful, which happened more often than not, those days he went without food completely, although he always tried to make sure Jett had something to eat.

 _Please don't leave…_

John sighed, and focused back on his task, the darkness of the land already folding in around him. His small fire flickered in front of him, offering a small amount of light and heat, but it would die soon, and John knew he would have to cook his food before it did. He'd collected wood, twigs and leaves for the fire earlier, but they'd been damp from the rain, and hadn't had chance to dry out properly yet. So once the fire died, that was that. He would go another day without eating, or he would eat the meat raw. He wasn't sure if he cared which one it would be.

In fact, five weeks had passed now since he'd been abandoned, and it was starting to get to the point where John wasn't sure he cared about _anything_ anymore.

Jett nuzzled against his leg, his large blue eyes watching John's actions with mild interest, and John reluctantly altered his statement.

Okay, so he cared about the dog – the 100lb wild puppy - but he wasn't sure he cared about anything else. Not Atlantis, not his own health, not even his life…

What was the point?

 _Please don't leave me alone…_

God, he felt as if he was on a precipice, one false move away from falling off into the abyss.

John placed his knife onto the ramp floor and bent forward to place half of the meat on a skewer that he would keep just out of reach of the flames. The rest of the meat – raw and bloody – he passed over to Jett, who took one sniff before he set about devouring it.

John sighed again and set about cooking his own food with only mild interest.

Despite numerous explorations of the nearby lands over the last week or so, John still hadn't found anything to stir any hope in his weary chest. It seemed to him that the entire planet was bleak, unforgiving and wet. Almost always wet. In fact, the rain never seemed to stop, and John felt as if it was beating him down, wearing him down until he finally dissolved into nothing. It was dry for the moment, but John still didn't feel any relief. No matter how much time he spent in the almost constant deluges, he never felt clean.

John rubbed at his face while his meat cooked. His facial hair had definitely developed from the stubble he usually favoured into a full blown beard, and his hair, normally spiky and out of control, had grown to the point where it now fell limp over his forehead instead. Add to that the general grime he was covered in, as well as the terrible state of his clothes, and he doubted anyone from Atlantis would recognise him now, even if they were staring him in the face.

Which, he thought bitterly, they wouldn't be, because apparently no one has any plans to come back at all…

"Dammit," John cursed, thumping the ground in frustration.

Jett lifted his head, ears pricked as if he was trying to sense danger. John took a shallow breath and released it slowly. It didn't matter, he told himself. None of it mattered anymore.

"Sorry, pal," he mumbled hoarsely, stroking Jett's neck. The beast gave John a long, searching look before returning to his own food, obviously seeing enough in John's face to put him at ease. John wished he could say the same.

Instead, John couldn't shake the feeling of being completely _uneasy_ ; of feeling…betrayed, unwanted.

Lost.

It wasn't just that he'd been abandoned on this godforsaken rock either; it was that he'd been abandoned on this godforsaken rock _by his friends. His family._

Or were they? He'd thought so, right up until four weeks ago, but now he wasn't sure…

 _We don't leave our people behind._

Except they had…

John turned over his meat, but was knocked out of his miserable thoughts when a hacking cough bubbled up in his chest. He tried to suppress it, but it was no use. With a tightness in his chest that he _knew_ wasn't good, John coughed relentlessly for at least a couple of minutes – careful to keep the meat from falling into the fire or onto the ground. Jett stayed by his side, but didn't bark or growl. He'd seen his new master like this before, and he'd no doubt see it again.

When the fit was finally over - quite a few minutes after it had started - John was left feeling shaky and even more miserable than he had felt before.

"Damn," he muttered, rubbing his chest.

He could already feel himself becoming weaker by the day. It had started as a tickle at the back of his throat and a slight tightness in his chest. He'd brushed it off at first, more out of denial than any lack of concern. Well, that and he didn't really had the luxury of being concerned about it anyway. It wasn't like he could go to the local doctor and get it checked out. He _was_ the local doctor.

And not a particularly good one judging by the piss-poor job he'd done on Jett's stitches.

John sighed and rubbed at his chest. Jett _was_ doing better now, almost as good as new; John was the one who was struggling now. He supposed it wasn't all that surprising given the conditions he was living in. He'd already lost more weight than he could afford, and given all the cuts and scrapes he'd received during his time on the planet, it was probably only a matter of time before one of them got infected, or before he picked up some alien bug. It might even be the stuff he was eating, John thought, pulling his cooked meat away from the fire. Still, he took a bite.

No matter what had caused the illness, it sucked, John thought as he chewed slowly and without tasting. There was no denying it now; he was sick, and becoming sicker. He just wasn't sure he cared enough to fight it.

"I'm sorry, buddy," John muttered quietly to Jett. "I don't…I'm not the type to give up normally, but…I can't do it anymore. I just…I can't. I'm sorry…"

John hung his head and closed his eyes. The thing was – despite his whirring thoughts - he didn't feel sad, or angry, or even depressed.

He felt…empty.

After a lifetime of fighting, he simply had nothing left to give. He was alive by default, but he wasn't _living_ anymore. If he hadn't found Jett, he probably would have ended it himself weeks ago, but he wasn't sure even the dog was enough to keep him going now.

John eyed the knife by his side, but didn't pick it up. Instead he finished his meagre meal, and stood, kicking up some dirt from the floor until the fire extinguished. It wasn't fully dark yet, but it would be soon, and John wanted to be inside the jumper by then.

He stretched his back, then turned to face the dog, who hadn't moved an inch. John dropped his own gaze, shame bubbling up in his stomach in the face of his own weakness. What was the point? What the hell was the point in any of it…?

"I'm sorry," he repeated, finally lifting his head. Jett looked forlorn, though it wasn't clear how many of John's words he understand, if any at all. John had a feeling the beast could just sense that something wasn't right, even if he couldn't comprehend exactly what it was.

"You should go, Jett," he told the dog, his hoarse voice cracking slightly. John gestured off into the growing darkness. "You should go back to your own kind. Leave me here to die in peace."

Was he dying? John thought absently. Probably. Did he care?

Probably not. He would've liked to die in battle – being the big hero and ultimately saving the day – but he supposed this was fitting in a way.

The truth was, John had never really felt as if he belonged anywhere until Atlantis. As a kid, he'd felt out of place amongst the rich, the privileged, the type of people who'd had their whole lives mapped out for them and who'd known that they'd never have to worry about a thing. When he'd left to join the Air Force – going against every single one of his dad's wishes at the time without so much as a backwards glance – John had believed that he would finally find his place in life.

How wrong he had been.

If anything, he'd felt even more out of place in the army than he had in his dad's world. He would never regret joining up, especially because it given him the chance to travel the world and more importantly fly pretty much any type of plane or helicopter he'd wanted, but the trouble he'd found, the people who had told him he'd never make it…that had soured the whole experience. The only reason he'd stayed in the Air Force was because wasn't sure he was capable of doing anything else.

In the end, he was glad that it had, if only because it had led him to Atlantis.

Even then, it had taken him a while to feel like he belonged in the expedition to the Ancient city. Colonel Sumner hadn't exactly welcomed him with open arms, and if the man hadn't died - if John hadn't killed him - John knew that he probably wouldn't have found his place on Atlantis at all. He would have been pushed to one side, ostracised for simply being a different type of soldier than the forces usually preferred.

But Sumner _had_ died, and John had been placed in command as the highest ranking officer, and ultimately he _had_ found his place. Home.

And now it was gone.

John sighed heavily, running a hand through his limp hair. He'd spent so much of his life alone, always trying to fit in but never quite managing it. He supposed it was fitting that he was going to die alone as well.

If he could just get Jett to leave him behind…

 _Please don't leave me…_

"Go, you stupid mutt," John muttered, no heat in his words, only desperation. "Please. Just go. Leave me. I want…please, just leave."

But Jett wouldn't go. The dog simply sat on the edge of the jumper, eyes fixed on John as if he could see into his soul. John didn't know why the beast wouldn't leave him, but in that moment he felt nothing but relief flood through him, made all the more sharp by the absence of emotion that had preceded it.

 _Please don't leave me..._

Jett wouldn't leave him, even if he was dying. He wasn't alone.

That was something at least.

* * *

"I just wish…I wish I could tell you more," Rodney ground out, almost slamming his tablet onto the conference table. "But the fact is, I just don't know enough."

"You have done a wonderful job in narrowing it down to these three choices, Rodney," Teyla soothed, correctly guessing that he was beating himself up for not doing more. "You have brought us much closer to finding John."

"But not close enough," Rodney ground out in frustration. He looked around the table. "There is literally nothing that separates these three planets; nothing of scientific note anyway."

"So how do we find out which one the Colonel's on?" Lorne asked, immediately going into Military Commander-mode. "There must be something. C'mon, McKay, ideas…"

The major looked exhausted, desperate. Rodney could sympathise with that…

"I don't know," Rodney replied with a sigh. "He could be on any of them, or if I'm wrong, he could be somewhere else altogether."

"Do you think you're wrong, Dr McKay?" Woolsey asked, eyebrows raised.

"No," he answered immediately, and tinge of his arrogance seeping through. It was quickly replaced by self-doubt, a somewhat foreign emotion to him. "But…what if I am?"

"Let's work on the assumption that you're not," Jennifer began, and Rodney shot her a grateful look. "Can't we just visit all three?"

"Yeah, you said the gates still work?" Ronon added.

"Actually," Rodney replied. "I'm pretty sure they don't. I've already had the tech's dial all three addresses. None of the wormholes connected."

"At all?"

"I thought the gates could accept incoming wormholes?" Beckett noted.

"Well, we know that Sheppard's planet did," Rodney agreed. "But then I attached a bomb to the DHD that probably blew up the gate as well."

"And the other two?"

"We know very little about them. Could be that something completely different is wrong with those planets, something that affected the gate as well," Rodney replied. "The Ancients didn't put much detail in the database entries. All I know is that these three gates can't accept incoming wormholes."

"So we still don't know where Sheppard is, or how find out," Ronon replied gruffly.

"We are much closer than we were this morning," Teyla told him, shooting Ronon a warning look.

"Can't we just fly to them?" Beckett asked.

"It would take at least a week to get to the first one alone, and that's if the Daedalus arrives here in the next day at the latest." Rodney paused to do a quick calculation. "If you want to visit all three, by my estimations, it would take about three months."

"That's too long," Ronon grunted, echoing the thoughts of everyone at the table.

"Then we need to determine which planet Colonel Sheppard is on so that we don't waste any more time," Woolsey said. "So does anyone have any ideas?"

Rodney didn't know if it was deliberate or accidental, but Woolsey's gaze fell onto him again.

"Oh, of course!" Rodney began, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. "Look to me, as always! I might be a genius, but I can't solve everything. I've told you everything I know, and if you bothered to listen to me for one second, you'd – "

"Rodney," Teyla interrupted, raising her hand as she cut him off mid-rant. "What of these…hounds of hell that the Priest mentioned?"

"What?" Rodney asked, completely taken aback by the random question. "Teyla, I don't think he was being literal…"

"But what if he was?" Jennifer asked, nodding. "It's not like we have anything else to go on. It's been four weeks since you left the Colonel there…"

The rest was left unsaid, but it was clear on everyone's faces that they all knew the stakes. All their efforts may already be too late, but the sooner they found the Colonel, the better.

"Teyla has a point," Beckett added. "Rodney, you said that there was 'nothing of scientific note' that separated the three planets. But what about folklore? What about legends?"

"I don't know," Rodney replied, frowning. "I wasn't exactly looking for that sort of thing."

Beckett, to his credit, didn't mock Rodney for even admitting that much, despite how out of character such an admittance was.

Instead, the doctor pulled the tablet towards himself. "Well then, let's find out."

* * *

 **A/N –** So, what did you think of this chapter? I realise that John is in a really dark place at the moment - and has been for pretty much the entire story so far - but I don't think don't think it's unrealistic given the circumstances. Hopefully you agree? If you have a minute or two to spare, I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts on the matter! We're nearing the end of this tale now, but there's plenty more hurt/comfort and angst to come, don't worry (if, like me, you like that sort of thing). For now though, and until the next instalment, thanks for reading!


	10. Part Ten

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hi all, another chapter has finally arrived! I'm sorry it took a while to post this one (again) but I've really been struggling to write lately, and it doesn't help that I've been suffering with a monster cold that I still can't seem to shake off. Having said that, hopefully I'm past the little bout of writer's block (and the illness) so that I can actually finish this story! I really hope you like this newest instalment! Fair warning though, it isn't very fluffy...although I can't imagine many of you are expecting it to be at this point in the story! Either way, enjoy...

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Ten**

* * *

Outside, the world raged, rain beating down on the land as if the heavens themselves had opened, but John – who had finally succumbed to the fever that had been building for days - was oblivious to it all.

Instead he was lost in the terror-filled world inside his mind, trapped in a feverish nightmare of his own making; a place that felt as hellish as the planet he had been abandoned on, and twice as terrifying.

"No," John mumbled, eyes closed as he tossed and turned on the floor of the jumper. "Please. Don't…"

 _Please don't leave me…_

 _He was back there, tied to that damn tree, again the wind and rain constantly swirling around him as he desperately struggled to get free. The ropes were strangling him, wrapped around his battered chest and neck so tightly that he could barely breathe…_

 _He needed to breathe…_

" _Let me go!" he screamed in desperation, but there was no one to hear him - at least no one who cared. His team were watching him of course, standing off to one side, but they made no move to help him. Instead they were laughing at his desperate struggle, his weakening fight, and even worse..._

 _They weren't alone._

 _Suddenly, Elizabeth was there too, and his father, and Sumner. God, they were laughing at him too…_

"No…" John muttered, shaking his head. He flailed out a hand, though he wasn't coherent enough to know why, clenching his fist so tightly the skin on his hand was turning white from the pressure.

 _He called out to his team, his friends, begging them to show him some mercy - to let him go - but his voice echoed around the clearing, eventually becoming lost in the deluge. Lost like him…_

 _Don't leave me here…_

 _Please don't leave me behind..._

 _But they were already gone, and he was alone, and hurt, and damn, he'd had enough of it! He wanted out._

"Let me go," John mumbled feverishly, jerking slightly.

 _But no one did. He was trapped, and the ropes wrapped around his body were slowly killing him. He was dying a little more with each second that passed, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He was dying..._

 _And a part of him even wanted to..._

"No!"

John jerked awake with a shout, chest heaving and heart hammering as the adrenaline continued to rush through his weakened body. John blinked hard, but it didn't help. He was hot and cold, and he felt like he was going to puke any second, so instead of worrying what he could and couldn't see in the darkness of the jumper, he spent the next few seconds trying desperately to catch his breath and calm down. He had to calm down...

 _Please don't.._

He couldn't though, almost clawing at his throat in an attempt to get free, to breathe. John knew he was in the jumper, he knew he was safe, but he could still _feel_ the ropes, the fear, the desperation.

The desire for it to just be…over.

He wanted it be to over.

Over.

John let his arms fall back to his side in defeat. He swallowed back the bile that had risen up, but it stuck at the back of his throat, leaving him feeling nauseated and dizzy and ready to throw up all again. He didn't, but only sheer will was holding it back. He ran a hand over sweat-soaked face, but felt no relief from the action.

God, how much longer could he do this for? How much longer could he hold on?

He was hot, cold, in pain, and numb, all at once. He had the vague sense that he was burning up, but all he felt was the chill that had sunk deep into his bones. He just…he couldn't think straight anymore, and he could barely move without feeling like he was going to pass out. John knew he was sick and he hated that he couldn't do a damn thing about it. More than that, he despised feeling weak, and in the situation he'd been left in, his weakness was going to kill him.

John slowly sat up, blinking back any latent dizziness, but he immediately braced himself as his lungs tightened and a great big hacking cough burst from his lungs. He tried to hold it back, he really did, but it was like trying to hold back a wave with nothing but a spoon. It stole the breath from his lungs, the energy from his body, and the fight from his heart.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't…

To his right, Jett barked loudly, drawing John's watering eyes over to the dog's direction. Jett looked agitated, upset, but John knew instinctively that it wasn't because of any external threat.

 _He's worried about me_ , John realised as he desperately tried to keep the coughs at bay long enough to catch his breath. _It's a shame that there's nothing either of us can do about it…_

Jett barked again, this time with increasing desperation. The dog slowly and cautiously limbered over to John's position but paused inches before reaching him, almost as he wasn't sure it was safe to approach.

"I…know, buddy," John mumbled, clumsily rubbing Jett's ears in an attempt to reassure him. "I'm sorry. Just…I'll be okay. I will…"

He didn't believe the lie any more than Jett apparently did, but the big dog moved closer anyway, burrowing his head into John's chest in response. John would've complained that the extra pressure wasn't going to help his breathing, but the warmth of the dog's body felt nice, and John wasn't sure _anything_ would help his breathing now anyway. Except maybe some of Beckett's happy drugs…

"You hungry?" John asked shakily, glad that he had someone else to focus on. "Got some…nuts leftover from breakfast that you can have."

John pulled himself up a little bit and reached over for the last of the food supplies from the day before. John knew he was in no condition to go hunting and gathering at the moment, but he wasn't hungry anyway. He was more worried about Jett, who was still recovering himself. After everything they'd been through, John wasn't going to stand by and let the dog die if he could help it.

With that in mind, he held out the last few nuts, almost begging Jett to take them– to survive where he couldn't – but even though he'd never had a problem eating the nuts before, for some reason, the big scruffy animal wouldn't eat them now.

Instead, Jett nudged John's hand back. Damn…

"C'mon pal," John muttered, pushing his hand out again. "They're all yours. I'm...I'm not hungry, and…hell, I don't think I'll be eating much...for a while."

Or ever, John thought to himself. He was too weak to even stand up, let alone make a fire. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to hunt or collect more water. Jett was a wild animal, he'd be okay eventually, but John…well, John knew he'd hit his limit.

He'd tried, he really had, but it was out of his hands now. He would either survive the next few hours, or…he wouldn't. It was a waiting game now, and John had a feeling that it wasn't a game that he was going to win.

John had always thought he'd go out fighting, but it wasn't about fighting anymore. It was about… acceptance.

He was done. It was over.

Over.

John closed his eyes and lay back down. It wasn't even a matter of _if_ it was going to happen anymore.

It was only a matter of when.

* * *

Rodney McKay hated waiting.

As he stared out of the window of the Daedalus, watching almost half-heartedly as the stars flash by at speeds that could barely be comprehended by the human mind - even one as quick as his – Rodney considered the position they were in. Usually he was fascinated by the sheer vastness of the universe, of the way they were all just mere flecks of dust in the cosmos, but not today.

Not today.

Today, Rodney had other thoughts clogging up his mind. He had other things to focus on. Other things to care about.

They were finally on their way back to John now - or at least where they believed he was - but since they were only on day two of a three day journey, it was still a waiting game. And he hated waiting.

Rodney knew that he was a naturally impatient person anyway, but his impatience always seemed to come out even more when he was feeling particularly anxious about something, be it a general project that he really wanted to succeed, or even just the intense demands put upon him on a daily basis by the Atlantis expedition.

He revelled in pressure, but waiting…he hated being out of control, and waiting only ever served to remind him just how out of control he really was.

"McKay," came a gruff voice from his left. McKay was vaguely proud of himself for not flinching, but it was a close run thing.

"Ronon," Rodney greeted with a nod, not even bothering to take his eyes off the stars flashing by outside the window. Ronon didn't seem to mind.

"What are you doing, Rodney?" asked Teyla softly, coming up on his other side.

Rodney sighed. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

 _Waiting, waiting, waiting..._

"We'll find him," Ronon said with conviction that Rodney couldn't share no matter how hard he tried. "When we get there, we'll find him."

"Right," Rodney replied sarcastically. "Because it's just that easy."

"We must have hope," Teyla said, her voice slightly chastising. "We know where he is now."

"We _think_ we know where he is," Rodney corrected, clenching his fists slightly. He didn't usually doubt himself, but he couldn't help it. The stakes were too high. God, if they were wrong…

"This is the only planet of the three that mentions hounds of hell," Ronon said, eyes fixed on the flickered stars. "That's good enough for me."

"Yes, well, some of us are harder to please," Rodney replied. He'd always been pessimistic, but this thing with Sheppard was testing him in a way that he had never been tested before. If it turned out that they were wrong, that Sheppard wasn't on this planet after all…

Rodney wasn't sure how he would handle that.

"It will be okay, Rodney," Teyla said softly, gently patting him on the shoulder. "John is strong."

"Stronger than he looks," Ronon added, a vague look of pride flickering across his face. "If anyone can survive hell, he can."

"It's not hell," Rodney replied with an eye roll. "It's purgatory, you idiot."

"Whatever," Ronon shrugged. "Felt like hell to me."

Rodney couldn't argue with that, so he didn't even try.

"John is strong," Teyla repeated. "No matter how many tests he may have faced since we left him, I have no doubt that he will have survived them."

"He'll be waiting for us," Ronon said confidently.

Rodney sighed. "He better be."

Because if he wasn't, if they were already too late to save their friend from the terrible fate they themselves had left him in, then nothing was ever going to be the same ever again.

Rodney ran a hand through his thinning hair, but kept his eyes on the stars. God, he hated waiting.

* * *

 **A/N –** So, how was it? I realise that this is only a short filler chapter, but it was necessary to keep the story moving - I hope you don't mind! The next chapter will have plenty more action I promise, although I'm not going to tell you any more than that at this stage because I really don't want to spoil it for you all! Hopefully you're still enjoying the story at least? Are you looking forward to more? Do you have any theories on what's going to happen next? If you can spare a minute or two, I'd love to hear from you! For now though, and until next time, thanks for reading!


	11. Part Eleven

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again, my wonderful, amazing readers! Thank you so much for your continued support – it really means the world to me, and I hope I can keep meeting your very high standards. To that end, here's chapter eleven! I'm sorry it took over a month for me to post it, but unfortunately other things have had to come first. Even so, it's here now (finally) and I really hope you like it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Eleven**

* * *

"C'mon, McKay," Ronon growled, crossing his arms in a way that could only be described as part impatience, part threat. "What the hell are we waiting for?"

The Satedan was stood beside Beckett, Teyla and Lorne inside one of the two jumpers on board the Daedalus, watching Rodney do the final checks on the systems he'd rigged up to try and keep the ship in flight once they entered the treacherous atmosphere of the planet where they'd abandoned Sheppard all those weeks ago.

Even though they knew for certain that Sheppard was on the planet now – something they'd finally been able to confirm by locating the signal from the Colonel's subcutaneous transmitter – it actually didn't do much to lesson Rodney's nerves about the upcoming mission. In fact, being so close now only made him even more anxious…

It was clear just by the looks of determination on the faces of his friends that they were ready to go and get Sheppard back using whatever means necessary, but Rodney understood things about this planet that they just didn't, and he knew that if they weren't careful, they probably wouldn't even make it to Sheppard's location alive, let alone take him home in one piece.

So Rodney did his best to ignore the big Satedan's frustration – and his own growing frustration as well, for that matter – instead focusing all his energy on the task at hand. After all, they were only a few minutes away from flying into somewhat unknown territory; it wouldn't hurt to be absolutely prepared, especially since the only thing they _did_ know about this planet was that it didn't like Ancient technology…

John would definitely kill them himself if they died trying to save him.

Rodney shook his head and carried on working on the jumper, as he had for the last couple of hours, making sure that it would keep them in the air. He was quietly confident that his alterations would be enough, but he didn't voice it. They were all on edge enough already. In fact, Ronon in particular looked ready to push him to the front of the jumper any minute, whether the final checks were done or not…

Rodney sighed, and finally put down his PDA. For once, he understood exactly where the big Satedan was coming from. Despite his nerves, he'd been itching to set off hours ago, but logic had so far prevailed.

But the truth was, he'd done everything he could now. It would either work, or it wouldn't, but there was only one real way to find out.

He put down his PDA and turned to face his friends. It was time to go.

Without even saying a word, he began to move to the front of the jumper, followed closely by Teyla, Beckett and Lorne, who would be joining them on this trip in lieu of Sheppard. Ronon hung towards the back of the jumper, arms crossed but eyes sharp. He was ready to go, that much was clear. They all were.

Rodney sat in the passenger seat without a fight, relieved not to be taking responsibility of piloting the jumper this time. Lorne was easily the superior pilot, bettered only by Sheppard himself, and anyway, Rodney wasn't sure he would have been able to fly the jumper in a straight line at the moment, not with his shaky hands and pounding heart. God, what if Sheppard was already…?

"Rodney," Teyla said softly, her hand resting on his shoulder. She stood behind his seat, looking as calm as ever. She couldn't be though, he knew that. She was probably anxious as the rest of them - just better at hiding it.

Rodney swallowed. "What if…?"

He couldn't even finish the thought, let alone the sentence, but it seemed Teyla understood anyway.

"We will bring him home, Rodney," she said, eyes now fixed to the window as the jumper began to rise up. "One way or another, we will bring him home."

"Yep," Ronon said from the back of the jumper with a certainness that Rodney envied, "We don't leave our people behind."

Rodney took a deep breath and released it slowly. He didn't know why that helped him calm down, but it did. Maybe it was the fact that Ronon, Teyla and Lorne looked ready to take down an army trying to find Sheppard. Or maybe it was the fact that it was Ronon and Teyla who were saying these things – two people who were born on other worlds, but were more like family than anyone else he knew.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that Ronon was right. They didn't leave their people behind, and Sheppard – their leader, their friend – was no exception.

 _We don't leave our people behind._

Rodney braced himself in the seat as they took off. Beckett, Teyla and Ronon took their seats in the back as well, and seconds later they finally shot free of the Daedalus, heading straight for the planet. He felt sick, anxious, scared and unprepared, but he also felt adrenaline rush through him, as well as a flash of certainty that he honestly wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else; a realisation that took him completely by surprise.

Generally, Rodney hated action almost as much as he hated waiting. Almost. He much preferred to be locked away in his lab, working on some unsolved mystery of the universe or a project that would probably change all life on Earth if only he could get the idiots he worked with to actually pull their weight and help him.

But in this case, with so much at stake, he knew he wouldn't have let anyone go on this mission in his place. This was _his_ friend, and Teyla was right…

One way or another, they would bring him home.

* * *

"Pull up! Pull up!"

"Dammit, McKay, I'm trying!" Lorne retorted through gritted teeth. "The controls aren't responding anymore."

"That's…impossible!" Rodney replied, panicked eyes fixed on his PDA. The readings didn't lie though. His alterations _had_ worked…for all of ten minutes. Now they weren't flying anymore; they were falling…

The rain was battering down on them as their decent quickened, making it difficult to see anything out of the front window. All he knew was that they were close to where they'd last detected Sheppard's subcutaneous transmitter; just not close enough...

The jumper, for all intents and purposes, was dead. They were going down hard, and Rodney didn't know how to stop it.

"Obviously not," Lorne said bluntly, then in full commander mode stated, "Everyone, get strapped in. This is going to be bumpy."

They did as he said without a second thought, but Rodney had a feeling it wasn't to make much difference. There was no doubt about it; this was going to hurt…

"Hold on!" Lorne yelled, and Rodney closed his eyes, praying to a god that he absolutely didn't believe in to spare their lives. The jumper was rattling with the pressure of gravity, but there was almost no noise. They were holding their breaths as their free-fall gathered unimaginable speed. The ground was coming up quickly, and Rodney was glad now that he couldn't see it. He didn't want to know how long he had left before –

Rodney didn't get to finish that thought. The ground was coming up too hard, too quickly, and all he could comprehend was the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his chest.

Then, in no time at all, it was over.

* * *

"Ow…"

Rodney swallowed, but couldn't seem to make his body do anything else. Even his eyes wouldn't open, though he wasn't sure he wanted them to anyway. Knowing his luck, he'd find himself hanging off the side of a cliff, or a couple of metres away from a group of rabid dogs. Nope, he'd keep his eyes closed, thank you very much…

"McKay, you alright?"

The voice seeped into his battered mind, but he did his best to ignore it.

"I think he banged his head on the console," another male voice stated. A hand reached at his neck, and Rodney wanted to push it away. He couldn't seem to gather the energy though, so he settled for a scowl instead. "He's alive."

 _Of course I'm alive, you idiots,_ Rodney thought silently. He would have said it aloud too, but his vocal chords weren't really working either. Damn, his head hurt.

"McKay, get up," came the first voice again. Rodney recognised it this time, though it didn't do a lot to reassure him. His memory was fuzzy, but he had a feeling that yet another of their missions had gone wrong. Surely Sheppard had learnt by now…

Wait, Rodney thought. They were here _for_ Sheppard, not with him.

 _We don't leave our people behind._

"Rodney?"

"M'okay," he mumbled, trying to pull himself awake. He finally managed to open his eyes, but had to blink several times before the blurriness finally faded. When it did, what he saw didn't really do much to reassure him.

It was darker than he'd expected it would be, which was weird since it had been daytime when they'd broken through the atmosphere towards the place where they'd detected Sheppard's signal. It also felt like they were sitting at an angle, as if they hadn't exactly landed horizontally…

"What happened?" he said, blinking again. As he looked around he noticed that the lights of the jumper had gone off, which went some way to explaining the darkness, although there was some light coming from the back of the jumper. Rodney's head hurt too much to turn around fully, but he assumed the back hatch was open.

Of course the main reason it was dark became immediately obvious as soon as Rodney looked out of the front window. It was covered in branches and leaves, blocking most of the light from breaking through and leaving him with the impression that they were buried under a mountain of trees, although he knew that it was more likely they'd landed on top of one. Rodney squinted. It was still raining as well. Of course, that was probably the least of their problems…

"We crashed," said Lorne bluntly, rubbing at his neck. Rodney could hear shuffling from the back of the jumper, which he assumed meant everyone was okay.

"Into a tree!" Rodney retorted, closing his eyes when his vision swam. "I thought you were supposed to be a good pilot?!"

"I _aimed_ for the trees, McKay," Lorne replied with a long-suffering sigh. "Softened our landing a bit."

McKay considered that, but his head hurt too much to argue any further.

"Speaking of which," Beckett began, reassuring Rodney that the doctor had survived the crash. "What _did_ happen?"

"Lost all control five minutes from the landing site," Lorne reported. He shot Rodney an accusing look, which was a little out of character from the normally calm and unflappable soldier. "All I could do was aim for this patch of trees and hope for the best."

That bit of flying had probably saved their lives, but Rodney didn't acknowledge that aloud. He had other things on his mind now. Like what the hell had happened…

"Rodney?" prompted Teyla softly.

"I'm fine," Rodney sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "PDA?"

Rodney glanced round the jumper, and watched as Ronon, with a great deal more care than he usually showed, bent over and managed to fish it out from under the piles of equipment strewn across the floor of their fallen jumper. "Here."

Rodney took it, then immediately tried to start it up. "Dead as well," he told them. "Dammit."

"I thought you'd fixed the issue with the Ancient technology," Ronon said accusingly, clearly trying to get a rise out of the scientist.

"Obviously not," Rodney reported angrily. The truth was, he had absolutely no idea why his adjustments hadn't worked, which only served to piss him off even more.

"Rodney…" warned Carson, probably sensing that Rodney was close to erupting.

"Look it doesn't matter now, does it?" Rodney interrupted. "We're stuck in a tree and we have no way to get back to the Daedalus. Some rescuers we are."

"Doesn't matter," Ronon replied, rooting around for his back. He began to gather as many of the supplies as he could.

"Ronon is right, Rodney," Teyla said softly. "We must still try to locate John. We cannot give up now, not when we are so close to finding him."

"Aye, lass," Beckett said, joining Ronon in gathering up as many supplies as he could. "That's the spirit. We're not far away now. Only a short, brisk walk, I'm sure."

"You all seem to be forgetting that we're stuck in a tree," Rodney shot back irritably, although it was half-hearted at best. The truth was, he knew they were right. Even stuck in a tree, they couldn't give up now.

"Have you taken a look out back yet, McKay?" Lorne said, fighting a small smile.

"Of course I glanced – "

"Just look," Ronon replied gruffly.

Rodney bit back a scathing retort, instead focusing on pulling himself out of the passenger seat and turning round without puking. He blinked hard in an attempt to fight against the sudden head rush, and eventually it passed.

Once he got his bearings, he stood on shaky legs and turned his attention to the back hatch, just in time to see Ronon jump right out of it.

Rodney moved forward almost on instinct, although he knew he didn't have any chance of stopping the idiot. What the hell was he thinking…?

"Rodney, Ronon is fine," Teyla said patiently. "Look closer."

So Rodney did, and when he crept forwards, moving closer to the open hatch door, he realised what they were trying to tell them.

"Hey, McKay," Ronon waved. He was standing on the forest floor, looking very much alive. The fact that the ground was only a two or three metres from the hatch of the jumper would probably explain why, but Rodney's brain was still working a little slowly...

"We were lucky," Lorne said from Rodney's side. He reached down to pick up on of their packs. "We hit the trees at just the right speed. Any slower and we would have stopped too far away from the ground to get down safely; any faster and only the ground would've stopped us, and not in a good way."

Lorne dragged the pack forwards, then stood over the edge and let the pack fall down to Ronon's waiting arms. The jumper was clearly at an angle, and now that his brain was starting to catch on to their situation, Rodney had the sudden thought that being on an angle probably wasn't a good thing. It likely meant that they were only seconds away from slipping the rest of the way towards the ground…

"The jumper's not going anywhere," Beckett said, correctly guessing the direction of Rodney's thoughts. "We're well and truly stuck, Rodney, so don't look so worried."

To his credit though, the doctor didn't comment on the clear panic he could probably see sketched across Rodney's face.

Instead Beckett said, "If it was going to fall, it would have done so by now. We're alive, and we're going to stay that way, okay?"

"Yeah, lucky us," Rodney said, peering down to Ronon. It didn't look very far, but he still felt a fluttering in his belly at the thought of jumping down. His head swam again, and this time he wasn't sure if it was his head wound or a sudden bout of vertigo that was causing his dizziness. All he knew for sure was that he didn't want to jump…

Of course, Teyla didn't share Rodney's reservations. Instead she took one last look at him – part sympathy, part exasperation – and then leapt down to the ground with the gracefulness of a cat. Rodney had a feeling that he would probably look like an elephant on roller skates.

"Come on, Rodney," Teyla said encouragingly. She held out her hand, even though he was too far away to grab it. He felt like a child. "Do it for the Colonel. Do it for John."

 _We don't leave our people behind…_

"Fine," he muttered. Honestly, the things he did for John Sheppard…

Then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and jumped.

* * *

The storm rolled on outside, but John was barely aware of anything now but the storm raging in his own mind.

John felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare. He knew it wasn't real, that the things he was seeing were all just figments of his feverish mind, but even with that knowledge he still couldn't prevent a niggling doubt from taking up residence in his thoughts. Because it _felt_ real. It felt terrifying and sickening and confusing and so completely _real._

He could actually hear his father raging at him, telling him that he had ruined every opportunity he had ever been given, that he had wasted the life that had been so carefully constructed for him.

He could actually see Holland, and Ford, and countless other men and women – some with names, others nameless, but all laying down their lives for him, on _his_ orders. They died over and over again, right in front of him, and each time he was powerless to stop it happening.

And most of all, he could actually feel every little bit of pain that had come at him from every side, in every form imaginable; everything from his early childhood accidents, right up until the more recent torture and battle wounds he had endured. He remembered how badly it had all hurt the first time, but now, as he lay on the floor of the empty jumper, a broken man in every sense of the word, the pain was going to destroy him. Because he had no defences left. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't…

He gripped his hands tightly, but there was nothing to hold onto; no comfort to be found. John fell in and out of consciousness, of awareness; one minute he was on the battlefield, the next he was in the jumper again.

In feverish desperation, John twisted on the floor of the jumper, trying to get as comfortable as he could whilst the pain raged on. He didn't have enough energy to even lift his head though, so he knew, in a brief moment of clear thinking, that there was nothing he could do to make it any better.

His whole body felt…off. He didn't feel right in his own skin; one minute he felt red-hot, the next he felt ice-cold. There was no pattern to it either, so it kept catching him off guard, making it impossible for him to relax. It was like his own personal hell, complete with a hellhound – in this case, an overgrown puppy - guarding the entrance to what would undoubtedly be his tomb.

Jett – the only companion that he knew was real - had been staring out of the open hatch into the rain soaked treeline for the last couple of hours, ears pricked as if he was picking something up. John, for his part, didn't really care anymore. No matter what was coming now, he had a feeling that it was going to arrive too late.

"Sorry, buddy," John whispered in a final moment of clarity. Jett whined as he turned to look at him but the big dog didn't move any closer. John was glad. He knew that this would be hard enough already without the added guilt of leaving Jett alone. He didn't want to give up, but it was time. "Goodbye, Jett."

Then John took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

This time, he didn't expect to open them again.

* * *

"Come on, McKay, hurry up," Ronon called from the front of their tired, sodden troop. They were drenched, but the wind and the rain were showing no sign of letting up. The trees and bushes that they were hacking their way through didn't offer much protection either, but they marched on anyway.

 _We don't leave our people behind._

"I'm going as fast as I can," Rodney snapped back. He would have said something more cutting, but he was struggling for breath as it was, and he knew that if he wanted to arrive at Sheppard's location in one piece, he would need to conserve as much energy now as possible. Of course the fact that Ronon was setting a pace that would have been difficult even for some of the marines back on Atlantis certainly wasn't making that task any easier...

Rodney swallowed hard as he wiped rain water out of his eyes. His feet kept him moving forward, but his chest felt tight, as if time was pressing in on him. They didn't have much time left, he could feel it, and yet they were so close…

Or at least they _thought_ they were close. His PDA was completely dead, so they were relying on Rodney's memory, and Ronon's sense of direction. What could possibly go wrong…?

"Not to be the child in the backseat or anything, but are we nearly there yet?" Carson asked, clearly ready for a rest.

"Shut up, Carson," Rodney muttered, gasping for breath, although his voice didn't have much bite in it. Rodney was pleased to see that the doctor was finding the march as hard as he was, but the thought didn't bring as much comfort as it usually would.

The truth was, he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to keep going himself.

Rodney allowed his eyes to close, even as his feet kept plodding forward. He was starting to feel a little dizzy, even with the wind and the rain blasting in his face, and he had a feeling that if they didn't stop for a rest soon, he wasn't going to make it to Sheppard at all…

"McKay!"

Rodney jerked his eyes open, and stumbled to a halt, taking a second to get his bearings. Damn, he must've blacked out for a second, because it had taken him almost walking into Lorne before he'd even realised that the rest of the team had actually stopped walking.

"Rodney," Teyla soothed, steadying him slightly. Annoyingly, she didn't look out of breath at all. "Which way now?"

"Oh," he mumbled, running a hand over his face. He felt cold, wet, tired, and yet oddly wired, making it difficult to concentrate. Still, he had to try…

Rodney closed his eyes as he tried to picture the map in his mind. Lorne had been fairly confident of where they'd crashed so the rest of the journey should have been easy to work out. The trouble was, Rodney was having to rely on his own battered and exhausted brain to get them from A to Sheppard. He was a genius, yes, but he wasn't a miracle worker…

"McKay…" prompted Ronon impatiently.

"Okay, bear right for a couple more minutes, then keep going straight ahead," Rodney replied with a sigh, hoping that he was right. "We should see Sheppard in five minutes, tops."

What state Sheppard would be in when they found him was anyone's guess, but Rodney didn't bother voicing that particular concern. The people standing beside him knew the risks better than anyone, and nothing he said was going to stop them now. Teyla was right; they couldn't give up, not when they were so close.

 _We don't leave our people behind…_

Rodney squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. No matter what, they were going to bring Sheppard home.

* * *

 **A/N –** So how was it? Liking the tension and suspense? I hope you're still enjoying the story – if so, let me know, because I'd love to hear from you! The next chapter is shaping up to be my favourite of the whole story so far, and I'm sure you can guess why. Hopefully the wait won't be quite as long, but I know better than to make any promises. Until then, thanks for reading!


	12. Part Twelve

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hi, one and all, and welcome to the next instalment of my story! First off, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. I'll be honest with you; I was a bit nervous about this one (more so than any other), and I think a large part of the reason why is because I've been building up to this moment from the moment I started writing this story. That created a bit of pressure to do it justice, and as a result of that, it's taken a little longer to get it right. Well, at least I hope it's right now? I suppose that's the curse of being the type of writer I am– I never know if what I've written is any good! Oh well, I suppose you'll have to be the judge of that instead, so without further ado, please read on…

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Twelve**

* * *

Wind rattled through the trees, the storm growing in strength second by second as heavy rain pelted the entire region. It was getting worse as each second passed, that much was obvious, but the five weary travellers trudging along the sodden ground – each soaked to the skin and exhausted from the trek - didn't really care.

Their focus was fixed elsewhere; not on the weather, but instead on the lone, broken jumper being battered by it.

They'd finally arrived.

Taking a moment to wipe the rainwater out of his eyes, Rodney took a cautious step into the clearing in front of him, heart pounding as he kept his eyes fixed on the dead jumper sat forlornly in the centre of it. With his teammates already a couple of steps ahead of him, Rodney took another step forward, then another, his ears pricked for any sign of an attack.

So far everything looked quiet and deserted, but when they'd first arrived at the clearing, Ronon had told them all that something seemed off, and Rodney had long ago learned to trust the Satedan's instincts in these matters.

Even so, he took another step, following his teammates. They were still heading straight for the jumper, albeit slowly and cautiously, but his own instincts were tingling now.

Because if Sheppard was alive and well and in this area – as the signal from his subcutaneous transmitter had seemed to suggest before it had stopped working - why hadn't he made an appearance yet? The man should have been there to greet them – with his usual standard cocky smirk plastered right across his face - but he wasn't. Something definitely wasn't right…

Rodney swallowed and wiped the rain out of his eyes, trying to quell the growing sense of vague unease mixed with increasingly uncontrollable panic. He wasn't good at this. He wasn't strong, he wasn't brave, he wasn't heroic; simply put, he just wasn't cut-out for this sort of thing. Or so he'd always thought…

Until Sheppard.

All those years ago now, John Sheppard had chosen _him_ for his team, even before they'd really grasped what it was that they would be facing. He'd trusted Rodney to do his job, no matter how tough things got, and dammit, Rodney had _._

Hell, Rodney had surprised _himself,_ let alone all the people who had always said he wouldn't amount to anything. And it was all because of John Sheppard. He'd seen something in Rodney that Rodney still couldn't see even now.

He thought Rodney was _worth it._

Well, Rodney told himself, squaring his shoulders slightly and pushing his body through the wind and the rain. John Sheppard was worth it too.

"McKay!"

Rodney dropped to the floor on instinct alone, just in time to see a huge black blur leap over him. He felt a claw scape at his back, but the beast mostly missed him, flying over Rodney and landing somewhere behind him.

"McKay!" Ronon yelled. "Run!"

Rodney didn't need telling twice. He clumsily pulled himself from the floor and stumbled forwards, aiming for the jumper and hoping desperately that the black beast, whatever the hell it was, was not going to come back for another bite…

No, no, no, no, no…

"McKay!"

McKay dropped to the floor again, but the animal must have learnt from his earlier error because this time it landed on him, knocking the breath from Rodney's chest. Rodney instinctively tried to twist out from under the beast, but all he managed to do was turn onto his back.

Rodney gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath. Now he could see the beast clearly. It was a black dog, as big as a small bear, teeth bared as it stared down at Rodney, almost as if he was sizing its prey up. Rodney didn't dare move, but he could feel his heart hammering loudly in his chest. The dog growled down at him – a low, sinister sound - and the scientist knew that the beast was only seconds away from striking.

Rodney closed his eyes. Oh, God, he was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die…

 _Sorry Sheppard_ , Rodney thought. _I tried…_

"Jett!" barked a hoarse but commanding voice from the direction of the dead jumper. "Stop!"

The beast stilled, but Rodney still didn't dare open his eyes. He frowned, still not quite able to reconcile with the fact that he wasn't dead yet.

"Jett…" the voice said again, low but sure.

Rodney frowned again, but this time for a completely different reason. He thought he recognised that voice, and Rodney felt hope begin to blossom in his chest. It couldn't be…

"Jett...come here," the voice ordered. "Leave him alone."

The man whistled once, loud and sharp, and then miraculously, the weight lifted from Rodney's chest, and he could hear the animal moving away. It was listening to the voice. Why was it listening to the voice…?

"Rodney," came another voice, which he immediately identified as Teyla. He felt her hand touch his neck, his head, his chest, trying to find out if he was still alive. If he was still breathing…

"I'm okay," he choked out, opening his eyes and blinking hard. "I mean…obviously I'm not okay, but I'm alive, which is a miracle considering that I was just attacked by a huge, rabid beast. Although why it chose me and not any of you, I don't know – "

"Rodney," Teyla interrupted gently but firmly. "The beast has retreated back to the jumper. You are safe."

That, Rodney decided, was a relative term. Yes, the beast had stopped attacking him, but it was still there somewhere. And so was…

"Sheppard," Rodney said, shooting upright. His head swam but he pushed away any nausea that had risen up with the sudden movement. "It was him. I heard him."

"We know," Ronon said gruffly. "Come on."

The Satedan held out a strong hand, and Rodney grabbed it, using it to pull himself back to his feet.

He could still feel adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, but he pushed those emotions away as well. The Colonel…they had been looking for him for so long. And now, they'd found him.

They'd found him.

Rodney didn't move however, following the lead of Ronon who was clearly still wary of the large, black dog-like beast that had attacked them – a position Rodney very much supported.

Rodney could see the experienced heads of Teyla, Ronon and Lorne weighing up their options - trying to work out a plan of action - but before anyone could say anything, there was a noise, and then as if in tandem, their attention was drawn back to the open back hatch, just in time to see a person emerge from the shadows.

And then suddenly, John Sheppard was there, standing in front of the hatch door, hair wild, eyes bloodshot, clothes dirty and torn. Even from a distance, with the rain and the wind howling between them, Rodney could see that his face was pale and battered and bruised, and that there was no sign of his usual cocky grin this time. In its place was a pained grimace, which would have been concerning thing to see on anybody, but was somehow even worse on the usually stoic soldier.

But, Rodney told himself forcefully, it was definitely Sheppard, and more importantly, he was very much alive.

"Hey…," Sheppard said roughly, eyes scanning over them all. The dog-like beast crept out of the shadows of the jumper and stood at his side, watching them closely, its agitation clearly growing as it tried to work out if they were a threat. John placed a hand on the dog's back to calm it, which oddly enough seemed to work.

Sheppard stood there somewhat awkwardly, just staring at them, almost as if he couldn't quite believe they were there. Rodney tried to imagine what it had been like for the man for the last few weeks, all alone, beaten by the people he'd thought of as family, abandoned to what should have been certain death.

How had he survived? What had he been through to be standing there at all?

Rodney shook his head, but kept his eyes fixed on his best friend; mainly because he was afraid that if he blinked, Sheppard would be lost again.

No one else - including Sheppard - seemed to know what to say either, but neither did anyone move. In fact, Rodney didn't dare to even breathe, just in case this wasn't real. It couldn't be…

"John?" Teyla began, her voice shaky with what Rodney could only assume was the same intense relief he himself was feeling. It was him. They'd actually found him…

"Seriously guys," John told them hoarsely, wobbling as he tried to grab onto the side of the hatch. He hand missed and he stumbled forward a bit. "How's a guy…supposed to sleep…with all this noise?"

Then, without even so much as another word, John promptly collapsed to the ground, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

Carson was the first to move, followed almost immediately by Lorne and Ronon. Teyla brought up the rear, and it was only then that Rodney – still a little in shock from the events of the last few minutes – finally followed them.

He stumbled after the team, but they'd barely managed to go ten feet before their progress was halted once again by the big black beast that Sheppard had apparently adopted.

The dog growled and Rodney and the rest of the team skidded to a stop.

"Woah…" Rodney said, hands raised in front of him as he tried to look as unthreatening as possible. He wanted desperately to just run away, but Sheppard was just lying there, right on the grass in front of the jumper, and it was obvious he needed medical help fast. Damn. As if the situation wasn't bad enough already, now they had to contend with the threat of being eaten by a huge black dog…

Rodney swallowed hard, his muscles tensed as he tried to stay completely still. The dog was stood by Sheppard's fallen body, teeth bared as if it was willing to strike if any one of them took another step forward. They didn't, well aware of the animal's capabilities after witnessing the attack on Rodney. The dog, however, took advantage of their moment of hesitation to move a step closer to them.

Ronon and Lorne simultaneously raised their weapons in the dog's direction, but Teyla held up her hand to stall them. Then she took a step forward herself, moving slowly closer to the beast. Rodney wanted to tell her to stop, to tell her to run away as fast as she could, but his throat was dry and he couldn't seem to find his voice.

"Teyla…" warned Ronon quietly. Teyla ignored him, her focus solely on the dog.

"We are not going to hurt you," she told the animal softly, hands raised in front of her, the universal sign of 'we come in peace'. The dog – 'Jett', as Sheppard had called him – cocked his head to one side, which seemed an oddly human action for such a rabid animal. Teyla didn't let it distract her.

"We are his friends, just like you," she continued as she gestured towards the prone form of their friend, moving closer still. The dog watched closely, but his teeth were no long bared, and he'd stopped growling for the moment. It seemed like he was listening to her...

"We can help him. Please, just let us help him," Teyla pleaded. There were tears in her eyes, but Rodney couldn't look away. Come on, come on...

The dog gave her a long look then, almost as if it was trying to look into her soul. Teyla stared right on back, never breaking eye-contact with the beast. Rodney saw Ronon tighten his grip on his weapon, and wondered if he was going to shoot anyway.

Then, miraculously, dog began to step back.

"Well done, lass," Carson breathed out as they watched the dog retreat to stand a few steps into the jumper, close enough to attack if necessary, but far enough away to demonstrate that they could proceed with its permission. Rodney shook his head as he tried to make sense of it all, but quickly realised that they had more pressing concerns.

Sheppard.

Rodney turned his attention back to John, watching as Carson moved forwards and dropped to his knees beside their fallen friend. Was he okay? Was he...dead?

Rodney held his breath as Carson completed an initial check. Teyla had moved to stand next to the dog and had one hand on its back, stroking it slowly to keep it calm. Rodney was glad, but still deemed it prudent to stand behind Ronon and Lorne, who were watching on as well.

"He's still alive!" Carson said suddenly.

"What?" Rodney said dumbly, drawing his attention back to John's unmoving body. Alive. John was alive…?

"He's still alive, Rodney," Carson said breathlessly. "Although if we don't do something soon, he won't be. First we need to get him inside where it's dry. Teyla, love…?"

"Of course," she said, immediately understanding. She looked down at the dog by her side. "Jett, we will need to bring John inside. Would that be acceptable?"

To Rodney's astonishment, the dog seemed to deliberate that for a second before nodding his consent. Nodding! Rodney shook his head. He must have been infected by the beast's claws because he was definitely hallucinating…

"McKay," Lorne said, pulling Rodney's attention back to Sheppard. "Grab one of his legs."

Rodney did as he was told, and together they managed to somewhat awkwardly move the unconscious Colonel into the back of the jumper. Teyla kept a hand on the back of the black animal to keep it calm, but Rodney couldn't help but watch it nervously, even as he kept half an eye on Sheppard.

"Right," Carson said, dropping back to his knees beside the Colonel once again. "Pass me my bag."

That spurred them all into action again. Carson had dropped the bag on the ground when he'd reached John, so Lorne went back out into the rain to pick it back up.

"What do you need?" Lorne asked as he began to look through the bag.

"Just pass me the bag, son," Carson replied, holding his hand out but not taking his eyes of his patient. Rodney didn't blame him. They'd been through a hell of a lot together over the years, but he couldn't quite remember John looking quite this bad in the past. Even when he'd turned into a bug, at least he'd looked…alive.

Now that he was able to get a closer look at the Colonel, Rodney realised that John was paler than a ghost, with a thin sheen of sweat across his face that made no sense with the chill that was in the air. Oh no…

Rodney watched as Carson started to pull various medical supplies from his bag, muttering to himself as he did so. Rodney, who had never really been able to grasp the full extent of Carson's job, had no idea what he was doing, and so couldn't help in the slightest. God, he felt so useless.

Useless, useless, useless…

"What's wrong with him?" Ronon asked gruffly, managing to shake Rodney out of his desperate thoughts.

"Fever, infection," Carson listed off as he worked. "That seems to be the most pressing issue, anyway. Not sure what the cause is yet, but I'm guessing with the way it seems he's been living the past few weeks, it could be any number of things. Maybe even a combination."

"The dog?" Rodney asked with a dry mouth.

"What about it?" Lorne asked, arms crossed and eyes worried as he watched Carson examine his CO.

"Could it have infected him with something?" Rodney replied quickly, gesturing over to the black beast. "Because I was caught by the thing too, you know…?"

Almost as soon as the thought hit his mind, his back began to itch and ache and sting with what _felt_ like it could be an infection - although if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't really sure the beast had even broken the skin. Still, no sense in telling Carson that...

"I don't know, Rodney," Carson said. "I can't see any obvious wounds from the animal, but I haven't done a full examination yet. We'll need to get the Colonel out of these wet clothes anyway, so I'll check then. For your part, just try to stay calm and keep an eye open for any symptoms that your 'wounds' might be infected…

Rodney knew that Carson was making fun of him, but oddly, he didn't mind so much. Well actually he did mind, but he cared more about Sheppard's condition at the moment- and the fact that Carson felt relaxed enough to mess with Rodney meant that he wasn't too worried about Sheppard, and _that_ meant that Sheppard was going to be alright…

It had to mean that Sheppard was going to be alright.

For the next few minutes, they watched Carson work, providing assistance whenever he asked for it, but otherwise supporting him silently.

Eventually, Rodney closed his eyes, unable to watch anymore. Anyway, he didn't need to see his friends' faces to know his thoughts were matched by everyone there.

Please let Sheppard be alright…

* * *

John woke slowly, and with great difficulty. His mind felt like mud, his thoughts erratic and somewhat nonsensical. He couldn't seem to hold on to any of them as his mind flew through the darkness, trying to gain some semblance of control. He knew he was waking up – he didn't know _how_ he knew, but he did know that much – but he had no idea where he was or what had happened.

Except his nightmares still lurked in the background, still haunting him and taunting him in equal measure. It was better in the darkness ironically. The vast blackness swallowed the terror up; it was only when he was on the cusp of consciousness - like now - that the dark, taunting figures seemed to return. John moaned, his feverish body twisting and turning. The death that seemed to follow his every move - it was coming for him, it was coming for him…

"No…" he mumbled, his body jerking slightly as consciousness began to pull at his mind with a little more force despite his vehement internal protests. The darkness was safe. His nightmares couldn't reach him there.

The last time he'd closed his eyes, he been prepared to die. He'd been expecting it in fact, so why was he now waking up. Why wasn't he dead…?

Maybe he _was_ dead? Maybe this is what happened after someone passed on. John frowned. He hoped not. It was cold, his body ached, and he had a horrible feeling he was mostly naked…

"Sheppard, will you just open your eyes already?" came an abrasive voice he would have recognised had his mind been anywhere near what it should've been. "We know you're awake."

A flash of recognition burst through the fever. Oh, yeah, he definitely knew that voice. Who…?

"Rodney!" chastised another voice, this one with a Scottish accent. "The man almost died…"

Ah, so he _wasn't_ dead then. Or at least, the people he was with didn't think he was dead. That was good. Except he still felt cold. And mostly naked….

"He's shivering," came a deep gruff voice.

"Well done, genius," the abrasive voice replied sarcastically.

"Rodney," warned a female voice, sweet and gentle.

This time the Scotsman continued. "He's got a fever, Ronon. The shivering's to be expected. In fact, it's actually a good thing. It means his body's starting to fight the infection. We'll just need to help it along a wee bit, that's all."

Ah, John thought, a fever. That explained a few things. Like the general crappy way he was feeling at the moment, not to mention how he felt hot now, not cold, like his body was being held inside a furnace. God it was agony…

John moaned and twisted, trying in vain to bring himself some relief from the onslaught of pain. It felt as if he was on fire...

"Come on, Carson," the deep voice replied. "It's Sheppard. He isn't going to let a little fever keep him down."

"Right," abrasive man retorted. "I'd forgotten that the man is actually invincible…"

John could almost see the sarcastic eye-roll that he knew would've accompanied those words, and decided that it was time he let them know that he really was okay. Except nothing was really co-operating, so that small task was easier said than done…

"M'fine," John mumbled finally, a weak, pathetic sound.

"See," the gruff man said. "Sheppard says he fine."

"Well of course Sheppard agrees – wait, Sheppard!"

"Mmm," Sheppard replied, unable to form a coherent response. God, his mind was still foggy to the point where he could barely remember his own name, let alone where he was. He tried to open his eyes, but the heavy eyelids weren't quite co-operating either at the moment. Not much of his body was actually, except his thoughts, which were becoming clearer by the second. Thankfully the creeping nightmares had reduced to a dull thrumming in the background, giving him at least some of the energy back that he would need to wake up completely.

"Welcome back, Colonel," the Scotsman said. "Do you think you could open your eyes for us?"

Sheppard didn't reply, but he redoubled his efforts to open his eyes. He almost had it. Just a few more seconds.

Finally, he managed to open his eyes a crack.

"That's it, lad," praised the Scottish man.

Light burst in, but John managed to fight against it. He wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know where he was and who he was with, and why it felt like his body was burning.

"D-Doc?" John asked, swallowing to try and get his throat to feel less dry.

He blinked hard, groaning as his body flushed with heat and pain. His surrounding started to come into focus, and he could see Beckett above him. John swallowed again, trying to bite back a scream of pain as the heat built deep in his chest. God, what the hell was happening to him…?

"You're going to be okay, Colonel," Beckett soothed. "You're fighting a wee bit of a fever, but we're starting to get it under control."

"We?" John said hoarsely. John tried to blink again, but his eyelids were so heavy that he was worried that he wouldn't be able to open them again. Everything felt completely out of whack…

"Your team," Carson replied, the look on his face suggesting that John was being particularly stupid.

"Oh," John said. He looked around again, and sure enough, there was his team; Rodney, Teyla, Ronon, even Lorne. There was a dog there as well, but that didn't really make much sense. Nothing made much sense actually, and a part of him wasn't even sure any of this was real…

"You guys…really here?" John said, his eyes falling shut again. He forced them open but it was quickly becoming a battle he knew he couldn't win. Everything – body and mind – just hurt too much…

"Of course we're really here!" Rodney told him, clearly offended.

But Rodney didn't know what it had been like – couldn't know, _because he hadn't been there_. He didn't know how John had _begged_ them to come back, only to be left alone for weeks on end. He didn't know how often John had considered just giving up altogether – something he had no doubt he would've done had he not met Jett. He didn't know that John had already been seeing various versions of them for the past couple of days as his fever finally took hold, their familiar faces taunting him with every failure he'd ever endured, every mistake he'd ever made.

They hadn't been real then, and he wasn't sure they were real now. It was a trick of a fever-induced mind. It had to be, because his real friends...they'd left him and they hadn't come back.

 _Please don't leave me..._

"Sleep, Colonel," Beckett said quietly, perhaps recognising that John was struggling with more than just the fever. "You just concern yourself with getting some rest. We'll be right here when you wake up, lad."

John wasn't sure about that either, but he closed his eyes anyway. The darkness was calling him, and this time he allowed it to swallow him up.

The nightmares couldn't get him there.

* * *

 **A/N –** So, they've finally found each other (sort of!). As I said at the beginning, I spent a long time trying to get this reunion right, but I've ended up saving a lot of it for the next chapter anyway. This one just grew a little too long, and I didn't want their reunion to be straightforward or quick, because that would have been a bit of a waste considering how long the story has been building up to it. Anyway, I hope you're still enjoying the story and can forgive me for the long wait. If you've got a spare minute, I'd love to hear from you! I have a few days off work now (It's my birthday tomorrow and I hate working on my birthday therefore I've chosen not to) so I'm hoping I'll have time to do a lot more writing. We'll see. For now, thank you so much for reading! Until next time…


	13. Part Thirteen

**A/N –** Hello again! Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday – you're the best readers I could hope for, and I'm so grateful for each and every one of you. As a reward for your sheer loveliness, please accept this newest chapter. I hope you like it! Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Thirteen**

* * *

"No…" John moaned. His sweat soaked body twisted and turned on the floor, but he couldn't break free. "Stop. Don't leave me…"

 _The wind roared through the trees, but even that wasn't loud enough to hide the cackling laughter of his friends as they waved at him mockingly from afar. They were leaving…they were leaving him alone…_

" _See, no one wants to be around you, Johnny boy," came his father's voice in his ear. He couldn't see the old man, but he knew it was him. "You have the unfortunate habit of causing trouble where it's not wanted. Where you're not wanted."_

 _Teyla joined in. "You're not wanted…"_

"No…" John clenched his eyes tight, but couldn't drown out their voices. They were closing in…

" _He's right," Holland told him, his bloodied face flashing across John's fevered mind. "My death was your fault."_

" _And mine," added Ford._

This time a memory flashed across his vision. A young man, overcome by a drug far more powerful than anything found on Earth. John's body began to shake. Was that his fault too…?

 _Then Elizabeth's face swam into view. "And mine, John. Make no mistake; if you hadn't been on this expedition, I might still be alive."_

" _I definitely would be," Colonel Sumner suddenly added. "You killed me, Sheppard. You killed so many of us…"_

"No," John moaned, twisting and turning as he tried to escape the ghosts and their accusations. He mumbled to himself, "You're dead. You're all dead…"

" _Yes, John," Elizabeth said. "We're dead. And it's all your fault. No wonder your team haven't come back for you. You're just not worth it…"_

"No…" John mumbled. His body shifted again on the floor, sweat dripping down his forehead. He was hot, he was cold; it _hurt..._

 _Please don't leave me…_

 _Please come back…_

 _Teyla joined in. "Why would we come back for you? Your father is right; you're not worth it, John. You're not wanted."_

"Sheppard! Wake up…"

 _No wonder your friends haven't come back for you. You're just not worth it…_

 _You're not wanted…_

"Sheppard!"

"No," John repeated. Suddenly he could feel a hand – a real hand - on his shoulder and he jerked it away violently. "No!"

 _Not worth it…_

 _Not wanted…_

 _Please don't leave me…_

"Please," John moaned.

"Sheppard!"

"No!" John shouted, snapping his eyes open with a cry. His chest was heaving with the sheer effort of trying to catch his breath, and he sat up suddenly, ignoring the way his vision swam as he desperately tried to pull himself back to reality. He could still hear the voices of the dead haunting him, so it took a few seconds to work out that they were fading away. They were leaving him…

 _Please don't leave me…_

"No," John mumbled, shaking his head. He had no idea what was going on. No idea what was real, and what was fake…

A hand touched his shoulder again, and he flinched, immediately scrambling backwards away from the threat with all the desperation of a feral animal. His body ached with the aftermath what felt like a hell of an illness, but he moved all the same, only stopping when his back hit the metal side of the jumper. He had to get away, he had to get away…

"John…?"

Except, a minute later, when he had calmed down and had actually taken the time to actually look at what had touched him, he realised that it wasn't a threat after all…

"Teyla?" he croaked out. He blinked, trying to get rid of the fogginess left over from the nightmare. She was here? So it hadn't _all_ been a dream? She'd come back…

He shook his head, but it didn't help, only serving to make him even more dizzy and disorientated than he already was. He just didn't understand what the hell was going on…

"John," Teyla sighed in relief. He could see tears brimming in her eyes and could feel the same in his own. "We are so happy that you are back with us."

It was only then that John noticed that they weren't alone. He dragged his tired eyes around the jumper and realised that the rest of his team were there too. Ronon, Rodney, Lorne, Teyla and Carson. They'd come back for him…

 _Please don't leave me…_

"You guys…really here?" he asked, even though he knew that this time they were, closing his eyes as a dizzy spell passed. He still felt sticky and hot, and his body ached like he'd been through ten rounds with a professional boxer, but he felt a hell of a lot better than he last remembered feeling. When he had been dying…

John shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He was better now and that was all that mattered. Carson's doing probably…

"Of course we're here," Rodney told him with a frown. Then the scientist turned to glare at Carson. He pointed an accusing finger at the Scotsman. "You told us that he had a fever, not that he was brain-damaged."

"I'm not brain-damaged," John immediately said, his voice croaky from lack of use. At least he didn't _think_ he was brain-damaged. He blinked heavily, trying to get his vision to clear. Then the other part of the sentence sank in. "Fever?"

Well that explained the achiness, the almost dying…

"A bad one," Carson confirmed quietly. "It appears that some of the local bacteria finally got the better of you. It was touch and go for a while there, son."

"You saved me," John said quietly. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and tried to stop his hands from shaking. He still felt…off, but he thought that probably had more to do with sleeping rough than anything else. It was hard to feel good when his body had been through so much over the last few weeks. Beatings, hungry, thirst, loneliness…

But he was alive. He might still be a little bit flush with the aftermath of the fever, but he was flush with life as well.

He was alive…

"Like I said, it was touch and go," Carson replied. "But you're going to be okay."

"If you say so," John muttered. He felt a cough bubbling in his chest but he tried to hold it in for reasons even he didn't truly understand. He didn't want his team to worry. He didn't want them to think he was weak. That he wasn't worth it...

The high of waking up alive was starting to wear off already. Even though he was getting better, he still felt like crap, and the remnants of his nightmare were making it hard for him to work out what was reality and what wasn't.

And he didn't even want to think about what was going to happen next. When they went back to Atlantis, and everything had to go back to normal. Except they'd left him, and he wasn't sure, no matter how hard he tried, that he could ever forget that…

Even if they hadn't wanted to, they'd still left him behind.

 _Please don't leave me…_

"Hey, Sheppard," Rodney said, a concerned look on his face. "You okay?"

"I don't need a shrink, Rodney," John snapped, clenching his fist. He'd got used to not having to deal with people over the last few weeks; it was harder than he'd imagined to see his friends again. It was getting harder by the second. "I don't need a mother either. I'm fine."

Of course he wasn't even close to fine, but he didn't want them to know that. Seeing their pity would only make it harder since that they had been the ones to cause this in the first place.

"Right, of course. So…uh," Rodney began awkwardly. "Nice place you've got here."

John shrugged roughly, trying to clear his head a little bit. Instead of looking at his friends, he diverted his gaze to the jumper instead. It was dark, cold, and there were parts all over the place from his attempts at trying to fix it. The _last_ thing it was, was nice….

John frowned. Still, he hadn't meant to snap at Rodney; he knew the scientist tending to spout more bullshit small tax when he was anxious. It was how the man was, but John still felt the bubble of anger that was rising up through his stomach. He tried to push it away though, a part of him well aware that they wouldn't have left him behind without a good reason.

 _Not worth it…_

 _Not wanted…_

John decided to try and make an effort.

"Yeah, well it's a work in progress," he told them gruffly. "I was thinking of putting in a rug, or you know, fitting a sky-light or something. Let a bit of light in maybe."

"Right," Rodney agreed awkwardly. "A little light can go a long way."

"Right," John agreed.

John shifted slightly in the uncomfortable silence that followed. He'd spent weeks wishing that his friends would come back for him, and yet now that they had, he had no idea what to say to them.

A part of him wanted them to go away again until he was ready to face them…

"So, I see you've kind of got a bit of a Tarzan thing going on," Rodney said, clearly trying to lighten the mood as he nodded towards John's slightly longer, more out of control hair and his thick beard. Unwilling to ask for a mirror, John looked down at his body, only to find that he was shirtless and covered in one of the emergency blankets. With his no doubt wild, dark hair and his bare torso, John could kind of see what Rodney meant.

Five weeks wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but John guessed that his appearance had changed quite a bit in that time. Hell, _he'd_ changed quite a bit…

Rodney continued along his Tarzan tangent, obvious to John's growing internal distress. "I mean, you're living off the land, and you've even been adopted by the local wildlife…"

John watched as Rodney glanced nervously over to Jett, who was watching intently, almost as if he was waiting for his master's signal to attack. John almost smiled. Almost.

"Feel a bit more like Tom Hanks in Castaway actually," Sheppard replied hoarsely, tiredly rubbing at his beard. "All I'm missing is Wilson."

"And the beach," Rodney added, gesturing towards the heavy, never-ending rain outside.

"And the beach," John agreed.

The uncomfortable silence soon returned, and John still didn't know what to say to break it. His team were looking at him intently, almost as if they were afraid he would disappear, but something about that didn't make sense. The words from his nightmare still hadn't left him, and he wondered if that meant that he knew deep down that they were true.

 _Not worth it..._

 _Not wanted..._

If they cared so much, why the hell hadn't they come back for him sooner…?

 _Please don't leave me…_

John decided to bite the bullet and just ask.

"Guys, uh, not that I don't, you know, appreciate you being here and all," John began, "But what the hell took you so long?"

The silence that followed was almost painful.

John chose not the look any of his friends in the eye, afraid of what he might see if he did.

 _Not worth it..._

Suddenly Jett, who had been watching the interactions with mild curiosity up until now, finally shrugged himself away from Teyla's gentle hand and lumbered over to John's position on the floor. Then the dog dropped beside John, and once he was comfortable again, burrowed his furry head into John's side until the man began to stroke him. John smiled.

"Thanks, buddy…" he muttered.

This time the silence that followed was a little less uncomfortable, but Teyla broke it anyway.

"We've been looking for you all this time, John," Teyla said softly. "We never stopped looking, not even for one moment, but we had feared…"

"That I'd already be dead," John finished bluntly. Jett jerked slightly at the harsh words coming from his master, but John calmed him with another stroke behind his ears. John knew he was being hard on his friends, but he also knew that what he was saying was right. The truth was, but for a hell of a lot of luck, he would have been dead within the first few hours of being abandoned by his friends…

"We're very glad that you are not," Teyla told him quietly.

She seemed to be telling the truth, but John still struggled to believe it. The Teyla from his nightmares crossed his vision for a moment, and her words rang in her ears.

" _Why would we come back for you? Your father is right; you're not worth it, John."_

"How'd you do it?" Ronon asked suddenly, and John knew instinctively that he wasn't asking for the ins and outs of what he had done to survive in the last few weeks. He was asking _how…_

"If you're going through hell, keep going," John muttered almost absently. Rodney looked up at him in surprise. John shrugged. "Winston Churchill. Figured the same might applied to someone _in_ hell as well. Probably the only reason I'm still around."

Even that hadn't been enough really. John remembered how close he'd come to dying, and he also remembered how...relieved he'd been. Dying really hadn't been all that bad in the grand scheme of things...

"Sheppard, look," Rodney began awkwardly. "You've got to know; we didn't mean to leave you here. We were…drugged, we think. We definitely didn't know what we were doing. We…well, as soon as we worked out what had happened, we started to look for you. Haven't stopped actually…until now, for obvious reasons of course – "

"What Rodney is trying to say, John," Teyla interjected, shooting a look over to the bumbling scientist, "Is that we are sorry for any harm we caused you, whether we had control over our actions or not."

"Look," John said, weakly raising a hand to stall any further apologies from his team. "I'm not going to lie and say it was a nice feeling being left by you guys, but I know it wasn't…you doing it. So _you_ don't need to apologise. Anyway, you came back for me."

But even as he said that, his mind niggled at him, the nightmare still fresh; still real...

 _Not worth it..._

 _Not wanted..._

"Yeah, about that," Rodney began. "Uh, well, we did originally plan to fly in and save your sorry ass from the hounds of hell that apparently live on this planet too…"

John had a bad feeling all of a sudden. "But…?"

"But we might have...crashed here instead," Rodney said quickly.

"Crashed?"

"Yeah," Rodney replied uncertainly. "It wasn't part of the plan, obviously."

"You crashed one of my jumpers?" Sheppard asked. He wondered why he was fixated on that one particular fact when clearly there were more pressing issues. Maybe he still didn't want to know more…

"Yeah."

"And…?" Sheppard prompted reluctantly. "I'm sensing there's more?"

"Maybe…"

"Rodney…"

"The Daedalus is in orbit, but our communications went out when we crashed, so they haven't got any way to know that we're okay. And since we agreed that they wouldn't send any more people down if we lost contact, help won't be coming any time soon."

"Spell it out for me, Rodney."

Rodney held his gaze. "For the foreseeable future, we're stuck here, Sheppard. Just like you."

* * *

 **A/N -** Well, how was it? You didn't think it was going to be easy, did you? I realise that John's thoughts probably seem to be all over the place in this chapter, but that was deliberate on my part. He'swoken up from a nightmare to find that the subjects of his nightmare are right in front of him. That's not an easy situation for anyone, especially someone who was expecting to die not all that long ago. I hope that it makes sense, anyway. If not, let me know! The next chapter hopefully won't take too long, but I know better than to promise anything. For now, and until next time (whenever that might be), thanks for reading!


	14. Part Fourteen

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Thank you so much for all your kind words after the last chapter. I want you to know that you're the reason I love writing this story so much, and why I'm a little sad that we're nearing the end. We're not there yet though, so without further ado, on with the next instalment…

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Fourteen**

* * *

When John next woke up, it was to a sharp headache and a vague sense that he couldn't breathe properly. He swallowed hard in an effort to lubricate his dry throat, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference, so he settled for taking as deep a breath as he could manage as he felt the harsh glare of reality pulling him back from blissful unconsciousness against his will.

With a desperation he didn't fully understand, John wanted to prolong the temporary escape for as long as he could, so he chose not to open his eyes immediately. Instead, he levelled out his breathing as best he could and let his other senses do the work.

The first thing he noticed, once he'd discounted his own ragged breaths, was that the weather outside had calmed down a bit. He could hear a gentle breeze, but no tell-tale sound of rain drops hitting the roof of the jumper. It was probably the first time it had stopped raining in the last couple of days, and he wondered if that was a sign.

Shrugging that away, the next thing he noticed, once he discounted the weather as well, was that he was _not_ alone. He knew Jett would be around of course, but some of the sounds he could hear were definitely of the human variety. He realised, a little taken aback by the sudden memory, that it was his team. They'd come back for him. He wondered why he was finding it so hard to remember that…

Unwilling to explore that particular thought any further, instead John focused his attention on his friends. He could hear a slight muttering from his right. The rustling of clothes. A tapping; nervous, bare skin on metal. A cough. And then…

"I'm hungry," McKay grumbled loudly, somewhere to John's right. John knew from the metal at his back that he was still lying on the floor of the jumper, so he had a feeling McKay was somewhere by the controls. John kept his eyes closed, still not quite ready to announce his return to consciousness just yet, but he could hear the sounds of tinkering in the background. Clearly McKay wasn't having much luck with fixing the jumper either if he was already complaining about food…

"Shut up, McKay," came the grunted response from Ronon to John's left. John could almost imagine the big man rolling his eyes, and he was surprised to find himself biting back a smile at the thought.

"I'm serious," the scientist whined. There was another dull thud – metal on metal – and John wondered how much progress Rodney had made in the few hours he'd been asleep. Probably more than _he'd_ managed in the last few weeks, John thought with a little more bitterness than Rodney deserved.

"I'm serious too," Ronon deadpanned.

"It's only been six hours, Rodney," Beckett chimed in, from John's other side. That left Lorne and Teyla, both of whom had long ago learned to be quiet when McKay went off on one of his rants. Oh, and Jett of course. John couldn't hear any barking, he could feeling the dog's thick fur against his right arm, telling him exactly where the big animal was.

"That doesn't mean I'm not hungry," Rodney muttered petulantly.

"Ah, but it does mean you're not starving," Beckett retorted.

"Excuse me," Rodney replied. "I have a medical condition."

John grunted out a sound that could have been a laugh and decided that it was probably time to chime in. Having spent more time with Rodney over the last few years than anyone else currently present in the jumper, John had long ago taught himself the art of Rodney-whispering.

"What medical condition?" Lorne asked Rodney, a little naively.

"Seriously?" Rodney replied, his slightly high pitched voice a warning sign that he was about to go on a rant. "Did you all bang your heads so hard when we crash landed on this godforsaken planet that you've forgotten about my hypoglycaemia - ?"

"Who could forget when you mention it every five minutes?" muttered John hoarsely, finally opening his eyes, albeit with great reluctance. When he managed it, he was faced with six pairs of eyes – five human and one dog – all staring at him. He tried not to shrink back under their scrutiny and obvious concern. In that moment though, as guilty as the thought made him, he couldn't help but think that there was something to be said for being left alone…

Except, of course, they were well and truly stuck together, at least for the time being. John sighed heavily. It was yet another thing that had been taken out of his control in recent weeks, another thing he would have to endure.

He'd learned quickly enough in the last few lonely, bitter weeks that what he wanted, what he felt…none of it mattered. He just had to survive, he reminded himself; that was all that mattered. Now, the only thing that had changed was that they had to survive with him.

"Yes, well…" Rodney mumbled, replying to John's attempt at a joke. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

John blinked hard at the abrupt change of subject, but he knew the scientist well enough by now to know that it was best to just go with it or face another round of bickering that he knew he wouldn't win in the state he was currently in.

Before answering though, he ran a hand through his unruly dark hair and for the first time since waking up, realised that he was still half-naked. John wrapped his arms around his torso in a futile effort to work some heat back into his body. He really needed to work out where they'd put his t-shirt…

"I'm fine," John shrugged finally.

John looked up, and could immediately tell, just by the odd look on Rodney's face, that he'd probably taken a little longer to answer Rodney's question than he should have, but he couldn't find it in himself to care too much. John pulled himself up slightly and was pleased to find that his body wasn't as achy as it'd been last time he'd awoken. It was a welcome reminder that slow progress was still progress…

"John…" came Teyla's mothering tone, complete with a gentle but firm stare. John briefly wondering if the look worked as well on Torren as it did on the rest of them.

"Fine," he mumbled, gaze dropping. "I still feel…tired, I suppose. Achy as well." He paused, shivered. "And a little bit cold maybe."

He shivered again and tried to remember why he was naked from the waist up. Then it hit him with a force that almost knocked him back, making him wonder how he could have forgotten in the first place.

Fever, he told himself. Right. No wonder his brain wasn't really functioning at full capacity. He'd almost literally been cooked from the inside by a fierce infection, and he'd nearly died…

John shook himself and glanced out of the back of the open jumper hatch for a brief moment. Now that he had his eyes open, he could see confirmation that the stormy weather outside had eased off a bit, but even with the slightly better weather, John knew that if he was still recovering from a pretty bad fever – and he most definitely was – then his body would take time to feel normal again.

Still, having added complication of recovering from a near-fatal fever certainly wasn't helping him feel any better about his situation. His body, which had gone through plenty already, felt out of whack, like it belonged to someone else, and his mind still felt muggy and out of sorts, despite being relatively well-rested. In fact, he was spending more time asleep than awake, and the few times he had been awake in the last few hours, he had felt so weak that a part of him had wanted his team to put him out of his misery.

Not that they would have, of course. But that had its own downsides, because as much as he appreciated them saving his life, and looking after him, and keeping him company, he'd been alone for a few weeks now, and their presence – even after a few hours - was already starting to feel…constricting.

But he didn't know how to tell them that, especially since they'd come back to rescue him, so he decided he would keep his mouth shut and act like everything was fine. That is, until he next fell asleep and he was forced to listen to the nightmare versions of his friends tell him over and over again that _nothing_ was fine, and that he wasn't worth coming back for.

 _You're not worth it._

The longer it went on, the harder John knew it would be to hide how he felt. And he knew he _had_ to hide it, because his team didn't deserve his doubt. They'd come back for him, he told himself forcefully. They were his friends, and they cared about him.

They cared.

 _You're not worth it._

"Here, John," Teyla said softly, proving John's point by passing him a spare emergency blanket. He took it, and tried to smile at her, but the action felt forced. His head still felt foggy with sleep and he wished he could have a few moments alone to get it straight before he had to face his team. Despite the fact that he knew they cared, suddenly he very much wanted to be alone…

"You can go back to sleep if you want, Colonel," Lorne said quietly. "We've got things under control here."

McKay glared at the Major but didn't argue, which was a warning sign if ever John had ever seen one. They were acting relaxed, but the tension was there. They were worried…

"Actually, I was thinking it might be good to go outside," John replied even before the thought had fully taken hold in his mind. He kept the blanket, but he resisted wrapping it around his shoulders as he continued, "I'd like to stretch my legs a bit."

"Absolutely not, Colonel," Beckett said immediately. John tensed but just managed to stop himself snapping. Still, he hated being made to feel like an invalid by anyone, especially by people who had abandoned him not that long ago.

It wasn't their fault, he reminded himself again, although a part of him, however small, was starting to doubt even that…

 _You're not wanted…_

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir," Lorne said cautiously. Clearly, despite John's effort, some of his latent anger was bleeding through.

"I'm not an invalid," John told him tightly. His anger was coiling around his chest now, tightening. He was so close to snapping, and if they didn't give him some space soon, he was going to…well, he didn't know what he was going to do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

"But you _are_ suffering from the after-effects of a fairly serious infection," Beckett replied gently. "It's going to take time, son."

"I thought I'd recovered," John shot back. He clenched his fists. "I feel better."

"So you feel better than you did when you were dying," Rodney said sarcastically. "Big deal."

"We need food," John replied stubbornly. "I need to go hunting."

The truth was, John knew he was in no shape to go hunting, but he was starting to feel out of control, as if he was trapped. He'd survived this long without them. What right did they have to come swanning back into his life, dictating what he could and couldn't do…?

"We can do that, Sheppard," Ronon said, pointing to himself, Lorne and Teyla. For obvious reasons, Rodney was excluded.

"No offence, big guy," John sighed, biting back his growing anger at being pushed out. "But I know where the best game is around here, and I can't exactly point it out to you without going with you. Besides, you'll need Jett to actually catch anything, and he won't go without me."

"Sheppard…you're just not strong enough," Ronon said, his words reluctant but ultimately sure. John knew there was a grain of truth there too, especially because Ronon was always honest with him.

"Ronon..." John began

True to his nature though, Ronon continued. "You'd only slow us down."

"John, it's okay," Teyla said softly, perhaps sensing something in his expression.

But it wasn't okay. None of this was okay.

She started to say something else, but John had finally had enough of the coddling. He'd had enough of them walking on eggshells around him and changing the conversation as soon as he woke up. He'd had enough of feeling weak.

He began to pull himself up on shaky legs, the blanket Teyla had just given to him finally falling from his fingers onto the floor. He might have been able to handle it if they hadn't left him to fend for himself for five weeks, but since they had…

"Look, I'm going outside," he snapped. "I managed fine without you guys for weeks. Believe it or not, I'm not completely useless."

And with that John stumbled past his friends and stormed out into the clearing.

The cool wind hit his face with a force that took his breath away as soon as his feet touched wet grass, but he persevered, determined to prove that he wasn't weak. He would show them that he wasn't weak if it killed him…

Except, of course, he only made it a few more steps before his legs started to give way beneath him. Suddenly, dying felt like a very real possibility…

"John!"

He felt hands grab at his shoulders to steady him, holding him upright. He wanted to shrug them off, but honestly, he just didn't have the energy. John closed his eyes and tried to stop his head spinning.

"John?"

John pulled his eyes open again. It was Teyla. He probably should've been grateful that it was Teyla who had followed him and not one of the others. She was least likely to yell at him, although her disappointment would probably hurt more…

"Sorry," he muttered, trying to slow down his breathing and bite back his latent anger. They didn't deserve it. He _knew_ they didn't deserve it, so why the hell was he being so testy with them…?

 _Please don't leave me._

"John…?"

"Sorry for storming out," John said roughly. "That was stupid."

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

"We understand, John," she replied, her hands never leaving his shoulders as she gently turned him round to face her. "But you are not alone anymore."

"I know…"

"No, John, it seems you do not," Teyla interrupted quietly. He started to respond, but she held up her hands to stop him. "Please just listen to me for a moment."

John nodded jerkily, and Teyla took that as permission to continue.

"If I could take away the pain that we have caused you these last few weeks," she began, "I would do it in an instant. But I cannot, John. _We_ cannot."

"It's not your fault," John said quietly. "I know that."

Shivers wracked his body, and he was starting to really regret dropping that blanket now. God, he was an idiot…

"Maybe your mind does," Teyla said knowingly, her brown eyes rising to meet his. "But your heart, I fear, does not. Not yet anyway."

"I'll get over it," John replied gruffly, more than a little uncomfortable with the emotional conversation. He crossed his arms in a futile attempt to work some warmth back into his body.

"It will take time," Teyla replied softly. "We understand that. But John, please, do not leave _us_ behind, no matter how much we may deserve such a treatment."

 _Please don't leave me._

"I'm sorry," John repeated, shoulders slumping. "God, I'm sorry, Teyla. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just…I was an asshole."

"Perhaps," Teyla replied with a teasing smile and a twinkle in her eyes. Then she turned serious again. "But we love you, John. Even Rodney, though he does not know how to say it."

"Uh…right," John replied uncomfortably. He shifted slightly. "Uh, you know…same to you too."

Teyla's wide smile was reward enough that John didn't regret actually pushing himself to say as much as he had.

"Come on," she said as she gently began to guide him back to the jumper. He didn't resist. "I fear Dr Beckett is already quite frustrated with you for disobeying his orders to rest."

"Yeah," John agreed. "Probably shouldn't push it."

Carson was a good, kind man, but he could be scarier than a wraith sometimes. Anyway, after weeks of being alone, it did feel good to have someone looking after him, wanting him to be okay.

There was still a bit of anger there, but John knew he had to keep reminding himself that not only had it not been their fault, _they had come back._

They were with him now, for better or worse. He was not alone.

* * *

 **A/N –** So how was it? I realise that these aren't the longest chapters in the world, and that there has been an almost unforgivable wait between postings, but I hope you're all still enjoying the story? Like I've said before, we're nearing the end now, but I would still greatly value any feedback you're able to give. For now though, and until next time, thank you so much for reading!


	15. Part Fifteen

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Sorry for the unforgivable wait. Life and other stories took over, I'm afraid, but I'm back finally, and we'll nearly at the end now. I envisage another two or three chapters at the most, although there is a lot to cover in that time so my estimate may well be off. We shall see. For now, please enjoy this latest offering!

* * *

 **~ Alone ~**

 **Part Fifteen**

* * *

"So," Rodney began awkwardly, "Uh…how are you feeling?"

John rolled his eyes and gave Jett a gentle rub behind his ears as he considered how best to answer without sounding like a complete asshole again. He and Rodney – and the quietly slumbering Jett of course– had been left alone at the jumper by the rest of the team, and since it was raining outside _again,_ they were sat on the floor of the jumper next to each other, too close for comfort for a man who had been on his own – literally – for five weeks.

Still, John couldn't find the energy to move, nor the courage to ask Rodney to. He was tired. More tired than he had ever been in his life, and his fever was only partly to blame. If his friends hadn't arrived when they had…

John shook slightly, his body still shivering with the after-effects of his near-death experience. It didn't matter. None of it did. He needed to get over it and start acting like a leader again. He needed to be the old John Sheppard again – the cocky flyboy who always had a plan – not the tired, broken man he'd turned into.

Except he _was_ a tired, broken man, and he had no idea how to fix himself.

John sighed softly as he continued to run Jett's ears, and forced himself to focus on the present again in an effect to stave off memories of the not so distant past.

About an hour ago, Lorne, Ronon and Teyla had decided to go hunting for food since they only had minimal supplies with them, and to everyone's surprise, Beckett had asked to go with them - John suspected that the doctor's decision had more to do with the fact that he would get a few hours of Rodney-free time than any real desire to catch some of the local wildlife, but John wasn't complaining since it gave _him_ a break from the doctor's well-intentioned but annoying care.

John was finding it hard keeping his mask up, but he felt he had to, even though they were his friends and he trusted them implicitly. He didn't quite know _why_ he was keeping a mask up, but being left alone with the most oblivious member of the team would at least give him the respite he needed to try and work it out…

"...Hello?" Rodney called, waving a hand in front of John's face. In spite of his earlier conclusion, John was already starting to think Beckett had the right idea. "Earth to Sheppard. Did you hear me, or has the fever made you deaf as well as grouchy?"

John forced himself not to flinch, mainly because he knew that Rodney's snarkiness was a sign of either frustration, or worry, or fear. Of course that didn't make it any easier to take…

"John…"

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm okay?" John asked finally, his voice hoarse and sore from lack of use.

"Because you look a bit…not good," Rodney replied awkwardly. John shifted slightly, though there wasn't really much room to move away. The jumper was small, and filled with their limited supplies. It was raining, otherwise John would've sat outside, where he could breathe...

"That's because I feel 'a bit not good," John told him tightly. Damn, maybe Rodney wasn't that oblivious after all. John rubbed Jett's back, the movement reassuring despite the fact that the animal was obviously asleep. "Why ask if it's that obvious?"

"Isn't that what a person is supposed to do in that situation?" Rodney asked, frowning.

John just shrugged. He wasn't sure he knew much of anything anymore.

"Well," Rodney continued "I won't bother next time then."

But they both knew he would, and John appreciated it. He did.

He did.

Still, the next few minutes were full of awkward silence and uncertain glances. John, for his part, still felt embarrassed over his earlier outburst – although none of his friends seemed to be holding it against him – and Rodney, true to his nature, seemed to have no idea what to say either.

Eventually, after the scientist had given up fiddling with the dead piece of ancient tech he'd been holding, he decided to speak.

"I hope we get rescued soon," Rodney muttered. "I hate camping."

John's eyebrows rose in mock-surprise and he bit back a smirk. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he deadpanned.

"Why are you so surprised?" Rodney asked, missing the sarcasm completely. John was more surprised by the random change in conversation than the topic, but he decided to keep that to himself. "I complain every time we're forced to stay off-world."

"How am I supposed to know that you're being serious?" John shot back. "You bitch and moan about everything."

"Not true," Rodney replied, but he gave no examples to help argue his case so John took that to mean that Rodney knew he was wrong but was too stubborn to admit it.

"I used to go camping a lot when I was a kid," John offered instead, not sure why he was opening up. Maybe it was because he thought he owed Rodney something, after the scene he'd made earlier. Or maybe he was just tired. He shrugged anyway and continued, "I've always liked it."

"Of course _you_ would," Rodney replied with an exaggerated eye roll. "You're athletic. Active. I'm…not."

"You're more active now than you were when we first left Earth," John pointed out.

"Yes, well," Rodney replied. "It's not like I've had much choice. I don't exactly have time for a stitch when we're running for our lives."

"Right," John acknowledged. It was true, but for once, John thought that Rodney was underestimating himself, and what he was capable of. Oh, he'd never win in a fight –even Rodney would admit that - but where the old Rodney would've run away, this Rodney would try to fight anyway. It was an improvement in all the ways that really mattered.

"So," Rodney began again. His tone was almost painfully casual, which was always a warning sign when it came to Rodney. "Did you go camping with your brother when you were a kid?"

This time John really was surprised…

"How do you know I have a brother?" John asked.

"Ronon," Rodney replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I also happen to know that you're filthy, stinking rich."

"No I'm not," John replied, tensing slightly. "I grew up rich. _My family_ was rich."

"Seriously, though," Rodney carried on, seemingly oblivious to John's intense desire to talk about absolutely _anything_ else. "It must be great to know you've always got something to fall back on."

"I don't," John told him bluntly, more to shut the man up than anything. "I make my own way. I always have and I always will." John paused. "Besides, my dad didn't leave me anything in his will."

"What?" Rodney asked. "Why?"

"He didn't like me much," John told him, hating the fact that he'd started this conversation now. He didn't want to talk about this, especially in light of his father's many appearances in his latest nightmares. "He…had a different plan for me. Wanted me to take over his business eventually but…"

He trailed off, but Rodney looked riveted.

"But what…?"

John sighed. "It sounded so…boring. I just wanted to fly. So that's what I did. I left for the Airforce and never looked back."

"You never spoke?"

"Not after that last argument, just before I left," John told him. "He'd already practically disowned me by that point anyway but after that night…I knew once I left that I'd never be welcomed back, and since my brother Dave took his side, even though my father's dead now, it doesn't matter. Dave has made damn sure I won't see a cent of the old man's fortune, even if I wanted it." John gave Rodney a pointed look. "Which I don't."

His father's funeral was something he didn't like to think of often, and not just because he'd spent the latter part of the trip being beaten up by an android-thing. His brother's cool reception had hardly been surprising given their history, but it had still hurt.

And now, being abandoned by his team – his new family - had only caused that old hurt to resurface…

"That…sucks," Rodney said.

"Yeah," John agreed, running a hand through his hair.

Jett growled at something in his dreams, drawing the attention of the two men - Rodney especially, who had tensed at the noise. John placed a hand on the dog's side, relieved to feel a steady heartbeat under all that black fur. It had the added bonus of calming Jett down, which allowed Rodney to relax again.

"So," Rodney began a little uncomfortably. "How's the mutt doing?"

John raised his eyebrows. Was Rodney changing the subject on purpose? Was Rodney being… _tactful?_

"What?" Rodney asked, misinterpreting the look on John's face. "You said I couldn't ask about how _you_ were, but you never said anything about the dog."

"He's fine."

"Carson check him out?"

"Yeah," John replied. "He said that the stitches probably saved Jett's life."

"Nasty scratch marks," Rodney commented. "Did you ever find out what caused them?"

"I think it was one of his own kind," John said. "But bigger."

"What?" Rodney yelped, his eyes immediately darting towards the open hatch.

John almost smiled. "Relax. I haven't seen one of them up close, but I hear them occasionally, barking, particularly at night. They don't come to this area for some reason though."

"Huh, I wonder why…" Rodney muttered to himself, fear gone as he lost himself in the puzzle. It was such a Rodney thing to do, and it made John realise just how much he'd missed his friend.

"I'm glad you're here, Rodney," John said quietly.

"I'm glad I'm here too," Rodney replied. "I mean, not _here,_ obviously, because there's no shower, or electricity, and I _hate_ the rain _and_ camping, but I'm…"

John just looked at him until Rodney got the message.

"Right," Rodney said. "Sorry. I'm just….I'm glad we found you."

"Me too, buddy," John replied, and he was surprised to find that it was true. "Me too."

* * *

Ronon, it turned out, did not actually need a great big, native dog to hunt the local wildlife; he could manage perfectly well by himself. John tried not to feel inadequate as he quietly chewed on the freshly cooked meat, but he wasn't sure he entirely managed it. He pushed the feeling down though, recognising that it was a stupid train of thought.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Beckett asked, having clearly been watching him closely.

John's eyes met Rodney's and he had to bite back a grin.

"Fine," John replied, not quite sure if that was the truth or not. He decided that it was the best answer he could give at the moment; not good, not bad, just…fine. Adequate. Okay.

"Ready to go home?" Carson asked.

John hesitated, because even though he knew his answer probably should have been straightforward and easy, it wasn't. He'd been stuck on a nowhere planet for over a month, with no one and nothing to keep him going, apart from a stray puppy the size of a small bear. He'd accepted that his life would never go back to what it was before. He'd accepted that he would never return to Atlantis.

He'd given up.

John shivered slightly, even though he wasn't cold. He was a different man now, and Atlantis was a different prospect. He still felt…feral, even surrounded by his friends. He wondered if he would ever feel like he belonged somewhere again…

John sighed heavily and ran a hand through his messy hair, then he gave the only answer he could. "Yeah."

"You don't sound too sure…" Rodney commented suspiciously.

"It's just…I've missed a lot, haven't I?" John said. Then a thought struck him. "Who's in command now?"

"Oh," Rodney frowned, gesturing towards Lorne, who had been quiet up until now. "Lorne was."

"And now?" John pressed.

This time Lorne spoke. "We didn't replace you, Sir, if that's what you're worried about?"

John let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding.

"We were never going to replace you, John," Teyla said softly. "Not until we knew for certain we could not get you back."

"And _that_ was never going to happen," Rodney added. "Not on my watch. We were _always_ going to get you back."

"I know," John muttered, and he _did_ know, now at least. Hell, they _had_ got him back.

He needed to get over it, he told himself forcefully. He was the same John Sheppard he'd always been. He _was._

And even if he wasn't, his friends didn't care. They'd found him. Against all odds, and against his own expectations, they had found him. And even though he knew it might take Rodney a couple of days to fix the jumper or work out a way to contact the Daedalus, John also knew that they _would_ get him home to Atlantis.

They would bring him home.

He was going home.

* * *

 **A/N -** So how was it? Is anyone still interested in this story? I hope so. I still have a few things to resolve - such as what's going to happen with Jett - so I hope there's at least enough interest out there to justify my efforts to finish this. Please let me know. For now, and until next time, thank you for reading!


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